\f9r,Wi.F 


3   at3   247 


v%c 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Bartlett 


flitocrmtic  <£&ition 

THE 

COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  NATHANIEL 

HAWTHORNE,  WITH  INTRODUCTORY 

NOTES  BY  GEORGE  PARSONS 

LATHROP 

AND    ILLUSTRATED    WITH 

Etchings  by  Blum,  Church,  Diclman,  Gifford,  Shirlaw, 
and  Turner 

IN    THIRTEEN    VOLUMES 
VOLUME   I. 


'STv7rT*1TTi™r'  •  \J Gil 


Copyright,  1851, 
BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

Copyright,  1879, 
BY  ROSE   HAWTHORNE   LATHROP, 

Copyright,  1882, 
Br  IIOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riyfrside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


A 


•If         f    '  J^ 

CONTENTS. 


PAM 

INTRODUCTORY  NOTE 7 

PREFACE 13 

THE  GRAY  CHAMPION 2i 

SUNDAY  AT  HOME 32 

THE  WEDDING  KNELL 41 

THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL         .        .        .        .        .        .52 

THE  MAY-POLE  OP  MERRY  MOUNT 70 

THE  GENTLE  BOY 85 

MR.  HIGGINBOTHAM'S  CATASTROPHE 127 

LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE 143 

WAKEFIELD 153 

A  RILL  FROM  THE  TOWN  PUMP 165 

THE  GREAT  CARBUNCLE .173 

THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES    /x' 192 

DAVID  SWAN  .......  211 

SIGHTS  FROM  A  STEEPLE 219 

THE  HOLLOW  OF  THE  THREE  HILLS 228 

THE  TOLL-GATHERER'S  DAY 234 

THE  VISION  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN 242 

FANCY'S  SHOW  Box .  250 

DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT    .                •                        -  258 
LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

I.  Howe's  Masquerade 272 

II.  Edward  Randolph's  Portrait        .  291 

III.  Lady  Eleanore's  Mantle 307 

IV.  Old  Esther  Dudley       ....                        -  328 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAQl 

THE  HAUNTED  MIND .  343 

THE  VILLAGE  UNCLE 349 

THE  AMBITIOUS  GUEST 364 

THE  SISTER  YEARS 375 

SNOWFLAKES 385 

THE  SEVEN  VAGABONDS 392 

THE  WHITE  OLD  MAID 414 

PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE 428 

CHIPPING s  WITH  A  CHISEL 455 

THE  SHAKER  BRIDAL 469 

NIGHT  SKETCHES 477 

ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS 485 

THE  LILY'S  QUEST 495 

FOOTPRINTS  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE 504 

EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD 517 

THE  THREEFOLD  DESTINY 527 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


THE  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Ox  his  return  to  his  native  town,  Salem,  after  grad 
uating  at  Bowdoin  College  in  1825,  Hawthorne  de 
voted  himself  to  writing  fiction.  His  first  book  was 
the  romance  of  "  Fanshawe,"  l  which,  however,  made 
no  impression  on  the  public.  He  next  produced  a 
volume  of  stories  to  which  he  gave  the  title  "  Seven 
Tales  of  my  Native  Land  "  ;  but,  after  discouraging 
search  for  a  publisher,  he  destroyed  the  manuscript. 
Whether  any  of  the  material  composing  that  work  was 
embodied  in  his  later  short  stories  it  is  impossible  to 
determine,  on  the  evidence  now  remaining.  Still,  it 
is  not  unlikely  that  he  drew  upon  it.  from  memory, 
for  the  foundation  of  some  among  the  "  Twice-Told 
Tales/'  The  sketches  and  stories  now  known  collec 
tively  under  this  title  were  written  mainly  in  a  little 
room  in  the  second  story  of  a  house  on  Herbert  Street, 
Salem,  from  the  windows  of  which  Hawthorne's  birth 
place  on  the  adjoining  street  (Union)  is  visible.  "  In 
this  dismal  chamber  fame  was  won  : "  so  runs  a  pas 
sage  in  the  u  American  Note-Books."  Under  another 
date  he  says  of  it :  "  And  here  I  sat  a  long,  long  time, 
waiting  patiently  for  the  world  to  know  me,  and  some 
times  wondering  why  it  did  not  know  me  sooner,  or 
whether  it  would  ever  know  me  at  all." 

1  See  vol.  11  of  this  edition. 


8  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

The  Herbert  Street  house  was  habitually  referred 
to  by  the  members  of  the  Hawthorne  family  as  being 
on  Union  Street,  since  the  family  residence  and  the 
birthplace  were  connected  by  the  lots  of  land  attached 
respectively  to  each.  The  mansion  on  Union  Street 
has  since  undergone  considerable  alteration,  a  large 
part  of  it  having  been  taken  down  some  years  ago, 
owing  to  its  dilapidated  condition.  On  Dearborn 
Street  there  was  another  house,  built  for  the  mother 
of  Hawthorne  by  her  brother,  Robert  Manning,  in 
which  Hawthorne  lived  for  about  four  years,  though 
at  what  time  precisely  it  is  impossible  to  state.  In 
the  Dearborn  Street  house,  also,  he  had  a  study;  but 
the  edifice  has  been  removed  to  another  site  and  al 
tered.  The  Herbert  Street  (or,  as  in  the  Note-Books, 
Union  Street)  house  was  evidently  the  one  which 
Hawthorne  most  closely  associated  with  the  production 
of  his  short  stories. 

The  earlier  pieces  appeared  in  the  "  Salem  Gazette  " 
newspaper,  and  in  the  "New  England  Magazine" 
(published  in  Boston  from  1831  to  1834).  Some 
times  they  bore  the  author's  real  name,  and  sometimes 
a  pseudonym  was  attached.  Several  among  them  pur 
ported  to  have  been  written  by  "  Ashley  Allen  Royce," 
or  the  "  Rev.  A.  A.  Royce."  Another  pen-name  used 
by  the  young  romancer  was  "  Oberon  "  ;  the  choice  of 
which  may  be  explained  by  the  fact  that,  as  the  late 
Henry  W.  Longfellow  recalled,  some  of  the  college 
friends  of  Hawthorne  had  nicknamed  him  Oberon,  in 
allusion  to  his  personal  beauty  and  the  imaginative 
tone  of  his  conversation.  But  notwithstanding  the  va 
riety  of  names  under  which  he  thus  disguised  himself, 
his  writings  revealed  so  clear  an  individuality  that 
many  persons  recognized  them  as  being  the  work  of 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  D 

one  mind.  In  1836,  he  went  to  Boston  to  edit  a  mag 
azine  for  S.  G.  Goodrich,  then  known  as  a  popular 
compiler  and  publisher;  and  while  thus  engaged  he 
wrote  a  large  part  of  "  Peter  Parley's  Universal  His 
tory,"  which  passed  for  Goodrich's  composition  and 
attained  a  wide  popularity.  At  the  same  time  he  con 
tributed  to  the  Boston  'k  Token  "  several  of  the  best  of 
his  short  stories,  which  received  high  praise  in  Lon 
don.  It  was  not  until  their  issue  in  book  form  that 
they  attracted  similar  encomiums  in  this  country. 

Hawthorne's  original  plan  was  to  collect  them  in  a 
series  joined  by  an  introduction  and  chapters  of  con 
nected  narrative ;  the  whole  to  be  called  "The  Story- 
Teller."  A  part  of  this  projected  framework  has  been 
preserved  in  the  "  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse  :  "  1  and 
the  Author  there  says  :  — 

With  each  specimen  will  be  given  a  sketch  of  the  cir 
cumstances  in  which  the  story  was  told.  Thus  my  air-drawn 
pictures  will  be  set  in  a  framework  perhaps  more  valuable 
than  the  pictures  themselves,  since  they  will  be  embossed 
with  groups  of  characteristic  figures,  amid  the  lake  and 
mountain  scenery,  the  villages  and  fertile  fields,  of  our  na 
tive  land. 

The  plan  of  "  The  Story-Teller  "  was,  to  represent  a 
young  man  of  apostolical  bent  who  set  out  to  go  from 
town  to  town,  giving  a  sermon  every  morning,  while 
a  friend  who  accompanied  him  was  to  relate  in  pub 
lic,  every  afternoon,  a  story  illustrating  the  text  pre 
viously  discoursed  upon  by  the  preacher;  the  whole 
affair  being  announced  in  each  place  by  posters,  much 
in  the  manner  of  a  travelling  show.  It  might  be  sup- 

1  See  "  Passages  from  a  Relinquished  Work,"  in  the  second  vol- 
nme  of  the  Mosses.  It  was  intended  to  preface  '  Mr.  Higginbotham't 
Catastrophe." 


10  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

posed  that  the  introduction  of  sermons  in  a  book  of 
fiction  would  offer  a  stumbling-block  to  success ;  but 
Hawthorne  evaded  this  obvious  difficulty  by  merely 
mentioning  the  sermons  and  then  giving  the  stories  in 
full.  Mr.  Goodrich  gave  the  scheme  no  encourage 
ment,  but  took  the  introductory  portion  describing  the 
preacher  and  the  raconteur  to  a  magazine.  It  is  worth 
recording  as  a  curious  fact  in  literary  history  that  for 
the  accompanying  stories  which  Goodrich  used  in  his 
annual  he  gave  Hawthorne  about  three  dollars  apiece. 

Finally,  through  the  intervention  of  Mr.  Horatio 
Bridge,  who  privately  became  responsible  to  this  more 
than  prudent  publisher  for  the  attendant  expense,  the 
first  series  of  stories  was  given  to  the  world  in  per 
manent  form,  as  a  handful  of  disconnected  composi 
tions,  under  the  general  heading  of  "  Twice-Told 
Tales."  Possibly  the  title  was  suggested  by  that  line, 
given  to  Lewis,  the  Dauphin,  in  "  King  John  "  :  — 
"  Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale." 

About  eight  years  after  the  first  volume,  a  second 
one  was  issued ;  but  even  this  did  not  include  all  the 
productions  of  the  early  period,  some  of  which  have 
since  been  brought  to  light.  A  few  have  perhaps  es 
caped  notice.  The  present  writer  discovered  in  a  mu 
tilated  copy  of  the  "Token,"  for  1835,  this  entry 
among  the  contents :  "  Alice  Doane's  Appeal.  By 
the  Author  of  4  The  Gentle  Boy.'  '  Only  two  pages 
of  the  story  itself  remained ;  but  they  sufficed  to  show 
that  the  contribution  was  one  which  has  hitherto 
found  no  place  in  the  collected  works.  A  complete 
copy  having  with  some  difficulty  been  obtained,  the 
sketch  in  question  will  be  included  in  the  12th  volume 
of  the  present  edition. 

"  The   Gentle   Boy "    probably  did   more   for   the 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  11 

author's  reputation  than  any  other  of  the  "  Twice- 
Told  Tales."  Furthermore,  as  the  volume  containing 
it  formed  a  link  in  his  acquaintance  with  Miss  Sophia 
A.  Peabody,  the  lady  whom  he  afterwards  married,  so 
that  particular  story  itself  was  by  her  made  the  sub 
ject  of  a  drawing,  which  now  becomes  a  matter  of  lit 
erary  interest.  A  special  edition  of  "  The  Gentle 
Boy "  was  published  in  1839  :  it  was  a  thin,  oblong 
quarto  in  paper  covers,  accompanied  by  an  illustration 
engraved  from  Miss  Peabody 's  outline  drawing.  This 
edition,  now  so  rare  as  almost  to  have  passed  out  of 
existence,  contained  a  brief  preface  by  Hawthorne, 
in  which  he  said  :  "  The  tale,  of  which  a  new  edition 
is  now  offered  to  the  public,  was  among  the  earliest 
efforts  of  its  author's  pen ;  and,  little  noticed  on  its 
first  appearance  in  one  of  the  annuals,  appears  ulti 
mately  to  have  awakened  the  interest  of  a  larger  num 
ber  of  readers  than  any  of  his  subsequent  produc 
tions  ;  .  .  .  there  are  several  among  the  '  Twice-Told 
Tales  '  which,  on  reperusal,  affect  him  less  painfully 
with  a  sense  of  imperfect  and  ill-wrought  conception 
than  4  The  Gentle  Boy.'  But  the  opinion  of  many 
.  .  .  compels  him  to  the  conclusion  that  nature  here 
led  him  deeper  into  the  universal  heart  than  art  has 
been  able  to  follow/'  A  letter  from  Hawthorne  to 
Longfellow,  referring  to  the  first  volume  of  the  tales, 
contains  another  remark  of  general  interest :  "  I  have 
another  great  difficulty  in  the  lack  of  materials  ;  for  I 
have  seen  so  little  of  the  world  that  I  have  nothing 
but  thin  air  to  concoct  my  stories  of.  ...  Sometimes, 
through  a  peep-hole,  I  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
real  world,  and  the  two  or  three  articles  in  which  I 
have  portrayed  these  glimpses  please  me  better  than 
the  others." 


12  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

"  The  Toll-Gatherer's  Day,"  evidently  derived  from 
minute  observation  of  the  traffic  on  a  bridge  near 
Salem  ;  and  "  Little  Annie's  Ramble,"  which  is  said 
to  have  had  for  its  heroine  a  child  from  real  life,  were 
perhaps  placed  by  the  Author  in  this  favored  category. 

The  paper  entitled  "  A  Sunday  at  Home "  was 
based  on  a  meeting-house,  near  the  birthplace  in 
Union  Street,  concerning  which  Hawthorne's  surviving 
sister  writes  to  the  editor :  "  It  never  had  a  steeple, 
nor  a  clock,  nor  a  bell,  nor,  of  course,  an  organ.  .  .  . 
But  Hawthorne  bestows  all  these  incitements  to  devo 
tion  to  atone  for  his  own  personal  withdrawal  from 
such  influences.  It  was  from  the  house  on  Herbert 
Street  that  he  saw  what  he  describes."  But,  like 
"  The  Seven  Vagabonds  "  (founded  on  a  trip  which 
the  Author  made  through  part  of  Connecticut),  such 
pieces  as  are  most  tinged  with  actuality  have  not  in 
terested  readers  so  much  as  the  pure  invention  of 
"  David  Swan,"  or  the  weird  coloring  of  those  half- 
historic  records,  the  "  Legends  of  the  Province 
House." 

Nevertheless,  looked  at  closely,  and  with  due  knowl 
edge  of  the  accompanying  facts  of  Hawthorne's  life  at 
the  time,1  the  whole  collection  affords,  besides  the  dis 
tinct  imaginative  pleasure  to  be  got  from  it,  valuable 
intimations  as  to  Hawthorne's  development  during  the 
first  decade  of  his  career  as  an  author. 

G.  P.  L. 
1  See  A  Study  of  Hawthorne,  Chapter  IV. 


PREFACE. 


THE  Author  of  "  Twice-Told  Tales  "  has  a  claim  to 
one  distinction,  which,  as  none  of  his  literary  breth 
ren  will  care  about  disputing  it  with  him,  he  need 
not  be  afraid  to  mention.  He  was,  for  a  good  many 
years,  the  obscurest  man  of  letters  in  America. 

These  stories  were  published  in  magazines  and  an 
nuals,  extending  over  a  period  of  ten  or  twelve  years, 
and  comprising  the  whole  of  the  writer's  young  man 
hood,  without  making  (so  far  as  he  has  ever  been 
aware)  the  slightest  impression  on  the  public.  One 
or  two  among  them,  the  "  Rill  from  the  Town 
Pump,"  in  perhaps  a  greater  degree  than  any  other, 
had  a  pretty  wide  newspaper  circulation ;  as  for  the 
vest,  he  had  no  grounds  for  supposing  that,  on  their 
first  appearance,  they  met  with  the  good  or  evil  for 
tune  to  be  read  by  anybod}\  Throughout  the  time 
above  specified,  he  had  no  incitement  to  literary  effort 
in  a  reasonable  prospect  of  reputation  or  profit,  noth 
ing  but  the  pleasure  itself  of  composition  —  an  enjoy 
ment  not  at  all  amiss  in  its  way,  and  perhaps  essential 
to  the  merit  of  the  work  in  hand,  but  which,  in  the 
long  run,  will  hardly  keep  the  chill  out  of  a  writer's 
heart,  or  the  numbness  out  of  his  fingers.  To  this 


14  PREFACE. 

total  lack  of  sympathy,  at  the  age  when  his  mind 
would  naturally  have  been  most  effervescent,  the 
public  owe  it  (and  it  is  certainly  an  effect  not  to  be 
regretted  on  either  part)  that  the  Author  can  show 
nothing  for  the  thought  and  industry  of  that  portion 
of  his  life,  save  the  forty  sketches,  or  thereabouts,  in 
cluded  in  these  volumes. 

Much  more,  indeed,  he  wrote  ;  and  some  very  small 
part  of  it  might  yet  be  rummaged  out  (but  it  woidd 
not  be  worth  the  trouble)  among  the  dingy  pages  of 
fifteen-or-twenty-y ear-old  periodicals,  or  within  the 
shabby  morocco  covers  of  faded  souvenirs.  The  re 
mainder  of  the  works  alluded  to  had  a  very  brief  ex 
istence,  but,  on  the  score  of  brilliancy,  enjoyed  a  fate 
vastly  superior  to  that  of  their  brotherhood,  which 
succeeded  in  getting  through  the  press.  In  a  word, 
the  Author  burned  them  without  mercy  or  remorse, 
and,  moreover,  without  any  subsequent  regret,  and  had 
more  than  one  occasion  to  marvel  that  such  very  dull 
stuff,  as  he  knew  his  condemned  manuscripts  to  be, 
should  yet  have  possessed  inflammability  enough  to 
set  the  chimney  011  fire ! 

After  a  long  while  the  first  collected  volume  of  the 
"  Tales  "  was  published.  By  this  time,  if  the  Author 
had  ever  been  greatly  tormented  by  literary  ambition 
(which  he  does  not  remember  or  believe  to  have  been 
the  case),  it  must  have  perished,  beyond  resuscitation, 
in  the  dearth  of  nutriment.  This  was  fortunate  ;  for 
the  success  of  the  volume  was  not  such  as  would  have 
gratified  a  craving  desire  for  notoriety.  A  moderate 


PREFACE.  15 

edition  was  "  got  rid  of  "  (to  use  the  publisher's  very 
significant  phrase)  within  a  reasonable  time,  but  ap 
parently  without  rendering  the  writer  or  his  produc 
tions  much  more  generally  known  than  before.  The 
great  bulk  of  the  reading  public  probably  ignored  the 
book  altogether.  A  few  persons  read  it,  and  liked  it 
better  than  it  deserved.  At  an  interval  of  three  or 
four  years,  the  second  volume  was  published,  and  en 
countered  much  the  same  sort  of  kindly,  but  calm, 
and  very  limited  reception.  The  circulation  of  the 
two  volumes  was  chiefly  confined  to  New  England ; 
nor  was  it  until  long  after  this  period,  if  it  even  yet 
be  the  case,  that  the  Author  could  regard  himself  as 
addressing  the  American  public,  or,  indeed,  any  pub 
lic  at  all.  He  was  merely  writing  to  his  known  or 
unknown  friends. 

As  he  glances  over  these  long-forgotten  pages,  and 
considers  his  way  of  life  while  composing  them,  the 
Author  can  very  clearly  discern  why  all  this  was  so. 
After  so  many  sober  years,  he  would  have  reason  to 
be  ashamed  if  he  could  not  criticise  his  own  work  as 
fairly  as  another  man's  :  and,  though  it  is  little  his 
business,  and  perhaps  still  less  his  interest,  he  can 
hardly  resist  a  temptation  to  achieve  something  of  the 
sort.  If  writers  were  allowed  to  do  so,  and  would 
perform  the  task  with  perfect  sincerity  and  unreserve, 
their  opinions  of  their  own  productions  would  often 
be  more  valuable  and  instructive  than  the  works  them 
selves. 

At  all  events,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  the  Author's 


16  PREFACE. 

remarking  that  he  rather  wonders  how  the  "  Twice- 
Told  Tales  "  should  have  gained  what  vogue  they  did 
than  that  it  was  so  little  and  so  gradual.  They  have 
the  pale  tint  of  flowers  that  blossomed  in  too  retired 
a  shade,  —  the  coolness  of  a  meditative  habit,  which 
diffuses  itself  through  the  feeling  and  observation  of 
every  sketch.  Instead  of  passion  there  is  sentiment ; 
and,  even  in  what  purport  to  be  pictures  of  actual 
life,  we  have  allegory,  not  always  so  warmly  dressed 
in  its  habiliments  of  flesh  and  blood  as  to  be  taken 
into  the  reader's  mind  without  a  shiver.  Whether 
from  lack  of  power,  or  an  unconquerable  reserve,  the 
Author's  touches  have  often  an  effect  of  tameness  ;  the 
merriest  man  can  hardly  contrive  to  laugh  at  his 
broadest  humor;  the  tenderest  woman,  one  would 
suppose,  will  hardly  shed  warm  tears  at  his  deepest 
pathos.  The  book,  if  you  would  see  anything  in  it, 
requires  to  be  read  in  the  clear,  brown,  twilight  at 
mosphere  in  which  it  was  written  ;  i'f  opened  in  the 
sunshine,  it  is  apt  to  look  exceedingly  like  a  volume 
of  blank  pages. 

With  the  foregoing  characteristics,  proper  to  the 
production  of  a  person  in  retirement  (which  hap 
pened  to  be  the  Author's  category  at  the  time),  the 
book  is  devoid  of  others  that  we  should  quite  as  nat 
urally  look  for.  The  sketches  are  not,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say,  profound ;  but  it  is  rather  more  re 
markable  that  they  so  seldom,  if  ever,  show  any  design 
on  the  writer's  part  to  make  them  so.  They  have 
none  of  the  abstruseness  of  idea,  or  obscurity  of  ex- 


PREFACE.  17 

pression,  which  mark  the  written  communications  of  a 
solitary  mind  with  itself.  They  never  need  translation. 
It  is,  in  fact,  the  style  of  a  man  of  society.  Every 
sentence,  so  far  as  it  embodies  thought  or  sensibility, 
may  be  understood  and  felt  by  anybody  who  will 
give  himself  the  trouble  to  read  it,  and  will  take  up 
the  book  in  a  proper  mood. 

This  statement  of  apparently  opposite  peculiarities 
leads  us  to  a  perception  of  what  the  sketches  truly  are. 
They  are  not  the  talk  of  a  secluded  man  with  his  own 
mind  and  heart  (had  it  been  so,  they  could  hardly 
have  failed  to  be  more  deeply  and  permanently  valua 
ble),  but  his  attempts,  and  very  imperfectly  successful 
ones,  to  open  an  intercourse  with  the  world. 

The  Author  would  regret  to  be  understood  as  speak 
ing  sourly  or  querulously  of  the  slight  mark  made  by 
his  earlier  literary  efforts  on  the  Public  at  large.  It 
/s  so  far  the  contrary,  that  he  has  been  moved  to  write 
this  Preface  chiefly  as  affording  him  an  opportunity 
to  express  how  much  enjoyment  he  has  owed  to  these 
volumes,  both  before  and  since  their  publication.  They 
are  the  memorials  of  very  tranquil  and  not  unhappy 
years.  They  failed,  it  is  true,  —  nor  could  it  have  been 
otherwise,  —  in  winning  an  extensive  popularity.  Oc 
casionally,  however,  when  he  deemed  them  entirely 
forgotten,  a  paragraph  or  an  article,  from  a  native  or 
foreign  critic,  would  gratify  his  instincts  of  authorship 
with  unexpected  praise,  —  too  generous  praise,  indeed, 
and  too  little  alloyed  with  censure,  which,  therefore, 
he  learned  the  better  to  inflict  upon  himself  And, 


18  PREFACE. 

by  the  by,  it  is  a  very  suspicious  symptom  of  a  defi 
ciency  of  the  popular  element  in  a  book  when  it  calls 
forth  no  harsh  criticism.  This  has  been  particularly 
the  fortune  of  the  "TwiCE-ToLD  TALES."  They 
made  no  enemies,  and  were  so  little  known  and  talked 
about  that  those  who  read,  and  chanced  to  like  them, 
were  apt  to  conceive  the  sort  of  kindness  for  the  book 
which  a  person  naturally  feels  for  a  discovery  of  his 
own. 

This  kindly  feeling  (in  some  cases,  at  least)  ex 
tended  to  the  Author,  who,  011  the  internal  evidence  of 
his  sketches,  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  mild,  shy,  gen 
tle,  melancholic,  exceedingly  sensitive,  and  not  very 
forcible  man,  hiding  his  blushes  under  an  assumed 
name,  the  quaintness  of  which  was  supposed,  some 
how  or  other,  to  symbolize  his  personal  and  literary 
traits.  He  is  by  no  means  certain  that  some  of  his 
subsequent  productions  have  not  been  influenced  and 
modified  by  a  natural  desire  to  fill  up  so  amiable  an 
outline,  and  to  act  in  consonance  with  the  character 
assigned  to  him;  nor,  even  now,  could  he  forfeit  it 
without  a  few  tears  of  tender  sensibility.  To  con 
clude,  however :  these  volumes  have  opened  the  way 
to  most  agreeable  associations,  and  to  the  formation  of 
imperishable  friendships ;  and  there  are  many  golden 
threads  interwoven  with  his  present  happiness,  which 
he  can  follow  up  more  or  less  directly,  until  he  finds 
their  commencement  here ;  so  that  his  pleasant  path 
way  among  realities  seems  to  proceed  out  of  the 
Dreamland  of  his  youth,  and  to  be  bordered  with  just 


PREFACE.  10 

enough  of  its  shadowy  foliage  to  shelter  him  from  the 
heat  of  the  day.     He  is  therefore  satisfied  with  what 
the  "  TwiCE-ToLD  TALES  "  have  done  for  hirr^  and 
feels  it  to  be  far  better  than  fame. 
LENOX,  January  11,  1851. 


TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION. 

THERE  was  once  a  time  when  Xew  England  groaned 
under  the  actual  pressure  of  heavier  wrongs  than  those 
threatened  ones  which  brought  on  the  Revolution. 
James  II.,  the  bigoted  successor  of  Charles  the  Vo 
luptuous,  had  annulled  the  charters  of  all  the  colonies, 
and  sent  a  harsh  and  unprincipled  soldier  to  take  away 
our  liberties  and  endanger  our  religion.  The  admin 
istration  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros  lacked  scarcely  a 
single  characteristic  of  tyranny :  a  Governor  and 
Council,  holding  office  from  the  King,  and  wholly  in 
dependent  of  the  country  ;  laws  made  and  taxes  lev 
ied  without  concurrence  of  the  people  immediate  or 
by  their  representatives  ;  the  rights  of  private  citizens 
violated,  and  the  titles  of  all  landed  property  declared 
void ;  the  voice  of  complaint  stifled  by  restrictions  on 
the  press ;  and,  finally,  disaffection  overawed  by  the 
first  band  of  mercenary  troops  that  ever  marched  on 
our  free  soil.  For  two  years  our  ancestors  were  kept 
in  sullen  submission  by  that  filial  love  which  had  in 
variably  secured  their  allegiance  to  the  mother  coun 
try,  whether  its  head  chanced  to  be  a  Parliament,  Pro 
tector,  or  Popish  Monapcli.  Till  these  evil  times, 
however,  such  allegiance  had  been  merely  nominal, 
and  the  colonists  had  ruled  themselves,  enjoying  far 


22  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

more  freedom  than  is  even  yet  the  privilege  of  the 
native  subjects  of  Great  Britain. 

At  length  a  rumor  reached  our  shores  that  the 
Prince  of  Orange  had  ventured  on  an  enterprise,  the 
success  of  which  would  be  the  triumph  of  civil  and 
religious  rights  and  the  salvation  of  New  England. 
It  was  but  a  doubtful  whisper ;  it  might  be  false,  or 
the  attempt  might  fail ;  and,  in  either  case,  the  man 
that  stirred  against  King  James  would  lose  his  head. 
Still  the  intelligence  produced  a  marked  effect.  The 
people  smiled  mysteriously  in  the  streets,  and  threw 
bold  glances  at  their  oppressors ;  while  far  and  wide 
there  was  a  subdued  and  silent  agitation,  as  if  the 
slightest  signal  would  rouse  the  whole  land  from  its 
sluggish  despondency.  Aware  of  their  danger,  the 
rulers  resolved  to  avert  it  by  an  imposing  display  of 
strength,  and  perhaps  to  confirm  their  despotism  by  yet 
harsher  measures.  One  afternoon  in  April,  1689,  Sir 
Edmund  Andros  and  his  favorite  councillors,  being 
warm  with  wine,  assembled  the  red-coats  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  Guard,  and  made  their  appearance  in  the 
streets  of  Boston.  The  sun  was  near  setting  when 
the  march  commenced. 

The  roll  of  the  drum  at  that  unquiet  crisis  seemed 
to  go  through  the  streets,  less  as  the  martial  music  of 
the  soldiers,  than  as  a  muster-call  to  the  inhabitants 
themselves.  A  multitude,  by  various  avenues,  assem 
bled  in  King  Street,  which  was  destined  to  be  the 
scene,  nearly  a  century  afterwards,  of  another  en 
counter  between  the  troops  of  Britain,  and  a  people 
struggling  against  her  tyranny.  Though  more  than 
sixty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  pilgrims  came,  this 
crowd  of  their  descendants  still  showed  the  strong  and 
sombre  features  of  their  character  perhaps  more  strik- 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION.  23 

ingly  in  such  a  stern  emergency  than  on  happier  oc 
casions.  There  were  the  sober  garb,  the  general  sever 
ity  of  mien,  the  gloomy  but  undismayed  expression, 
the  scriptural  forms  of  speech,  and  the  confidence  in 
Heaven's  blessing  on  a  righteous  cause,  which  would 
have  marked  a  band  of  the  original  Puritans,  when 
threatened  by  some  peril  of  the  wilderness.  Indeed, 
it  was  not  yet  time  for  the  old  spirit  to  be  extinct ; 
since  there  were  men  in  the  street  that  day  who  had 
worshipped  there  beneath  the  trees,  before  a  house 
was  reared  to  the  God  for  whom  they  had  become 
exiles.  Old  soldiers  of  the  Parliament  were  here, 
too,  smiling  grimly  at  the  thought  that  their  aged 
arms  might  strike  another  blow  against  the  house  of 
Stuart.  Here,  also,  were  the  veterans  of  King  Phil 
ip's  war,  who  had  burned  villages  and  slaughtered 
young  and  old,  with  pious  fierceness,  while  the  godly 
souls  throughout  the  land  were  helping  them  with 
prayer.  Several  ministers  were  scattered  among  the 
crowd,  which,  unlike  all  other  mobs,  regarded  them 
with  such  reverence,  as  if  there  were  sanctity  in  their 
very  garments.  These  holy  men  exerted  their  influ 
ence  to  quiet  the  people,  but  not  to  disperse  them. 
Meantime,  the  purpose  of  the  Governor,  in  disturbing 
the  peace  of  the  town  at  a  period  when  the  slightest 
commotion  might  throw  the  country  into  a  ferment, 
was  almost  the  universal  subject  of  inquiry,  and  vari 
ously  explained. 

"  Satan  will  strike  his  master-stroke  presently," 
cried  some,  "  because  he  knoweth  that  his  time  is 
short.  All  our  godly  pastors  are  to  be  dragged  to 
prison  !  We  shall  see  them  at  a  Smithfield  fire  in 
King  Street !  " 

Hereupon  the  people  of  each  parish  gathered  closei 


24  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

round  their  minister,  who  looked  calmly  upwards  and 
assumed  a  more  apostolic  dignity,  as  well  befitted  a 
candidate  for  the  highest  honor  of  his  profession,  the 
crown  of  martyrdom.  It  was  actually  fancied,  at  that 
period,  that  New  England  might  have  a  John  Rogers 
of  her  own  to  take  the  place  of  that  worthy  in  the 
Primer. 

"  The  Pope  of  Rome  has  given  orders  for  a  new 
St.  Bartholomew ! "  cried  others.  "  We  are  to  be 
massacred,  man  and  male  child  !  " 

Neither  was  this  rumor  wholly  discredited,  although 
the  wiser  class  believed  the  Governor's  object  some 
what  less  atrocious.  His  predecessor  under  the  old 
charter,  Bradstreet,  a  venerable  companion  of  the  first 
settlers,  was  known  to  be  in  town.  There  were 
grounds  for  conjecturing,  that  Sir  Edmund  Andros 
intended  at  once  to  strike  terror  by  a  parade  of  mili 
tary  force,  and  to  confound  the  opposite  faction  by 
possessing  himself  of  their  chief. 

"  Stand  firm  for  the  old  charter  Governor !  "  shouted 
the  crowd,  seizing  upon  the  idea.  "  The  good  old 
Governor  Bradstreet !  " 

While  this  cry  was  at  the  loudest,  the  people  were 
surprised  by  the  well-known  figure  of  Governor  Brad- 
street  himself,  a  patriarch  of  nearly  ninety,  who  ap 
peared  on  the  elevated  steps  of  a  door,  and,  with  char 
acteristic  mildness,  besought  them  to  submit  to  the 
constituted  authorities. 

"  My  children,"  concluded  this  venerable  person, 
"  do  nothing  rashly.  Cry  not  aloud,  but  pray  for  the 
welfare  of  New  England,  and  expect  patiently  what 
the  Lord  will  do  in  this  matter !  " 

The  event  was  soon  to  be  decided.  All  this  time, 
the  roll  of  the  drum  had  been  approaching  through 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION.  25 

Cornhill,  louder  and  deeper,  till  with  reverberations 
from  house  to  house,  and  the  regular  tramp  of  martial 
footsteps,  it  burst  into  the  street.  A  double  rank  of 
soldiers  made  their  appearance,  occupying  the  whole 
breadth  of  the  passage,  with  shouldered  matchlocks, 
and  matches  burning,  so  as  to  present  a  row  of  fires 
in  the  dusk.  Their  steady  march  was  like  the  prog 
ress  of  a  machine,  that  would  roll  irresistibly  over 
everything  in  its  way.  Next,  moving  slowly,  with  a 
confused  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  rode  a  party 
of  mounted  gentlemen,  the  central  figure  being  Sir 
Edmund  Andros,  elderly,  but  erect  and  soldier-like. 
Those  around  him  were  his  favorite  councillors,  and 
the  bitterest  foes  of  New  England.  At  his  right  hand 
rode  Edward  Randolph,  our  arch-enemy,  that  "  blasted 
wretch,*'  as  Cotton  Mather  calls  him,  who  achieved 
the  downfall  of  our  ancient  government,  and  was  fol 
lowed  with  a  sensible  curse,  through  life  and  to  his 
grave.  On  the  other  side  was  Bullivant,  scattering 
jests  and  mockery  as  he  rode  along.  Dudley  came 
behind,  with  a  downcast  look,  dreading,  as  well  he 
might,  to  meet  the  indignant  gaze  of  the  people,  who 
beheld  him,  their  only  countryman  by  birth,  among 
the  oppressors  of  his  native  land.  The  captain  of  a 
frigate  in  the  harbor,  and  two  or  three  civil  officers 
under  the  Crown,  were  also  there.  But  the  figure 
which  most  attracted  the  public  eye,  and  stirred  up 
the  deepest  feeling,  was  the  Episcopal  clergyman  of 
King's  Chapel,  riding  haughtily  among  the  magis 
trates  in  his  priestly  vestments,  the  fitting  representa 
tive  of  prelacy  and  persecution,  the  union  of  church 
and  state,  and  all  those  abominations  which  had  driven 
the  Puritans  to  the  wilderness.  Another  guard  of 
soldiers,  in  double  rank,  brought  up  the  rear. 


26  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

The  whole  scene  was  a  picture  of  the  condition  of 
New  England,  and  its  moral,  the  deformity  of  any 
government  that  does  not  grow  out  of  the  nature  of 
things  and  the  character  of  the  people.  On  one  side 
the  religious  multitude,  with  their  sad  visages  and  dark 
attire,  and  on  the  other,  the  group  of  despotic  rulers, 
with  the  high  churchman  in  the  midst,  and  here  and 
there  a  crucifix  at  their  bosoms,  all  magnificently  clad, 
flushed  with  wine,  proud  of  unjust  authority,  and 
scoffing  at  the  universal  groan.  And  the  mercenary 
soldiers,  waiting  but  the  word  to  deluge  the  street  with 
blood,  showed  the  only  means  by  which  obedience 
could  be  secured. 

"  0  Lord  of  Hosts,"  cried  a  voice  among  the  crowd, 
"  provide  a  Champion  for  thy  people  !  " 

This  ejaculation  was  loudly  uttered,  and  served  as 
a  herald's  cry,  to  introduce  a  remarkable  personage. 
The  crowd  had  rolled  back,  and  were  now  huddled 
together  nearly  at  the  extremity  of  the  street,  while 
the  soldiers  had  advanced  no  more  than  a  third  of  its 
length.  The  intervening  space  was  empty  —  a  paved 
solitude,  between  lofty  edifices,  which  threw  almost  a 
twilight  shadow  over  it.  Suddenly,  there  was  seen 
the  figure  of  an  ancient  man,  who  seemed  to  have 
emerged  from  among  the  people,  and  was  walking  by 
himself  along  the  centre  of  the  street,  to  confront  the 
armed  band.  He  wore  the  old  Puritan  dress,  a  dark 
cloak  and  a  steeple-crowned  hat,  in  the  fashion  of  at 
least  fifty  years  before,  with  a  heavy  sword  upon  his 
thigh,  but  a  staff  in  his  hand  to  assist  the  tremulous 
gait  of  age. 

When  at  some  distance  from  the  multitude,  the  old 
man  turned  slowly  round,  displaying  a  face  of  antique 
majesty,  rendered  doubly  venerable  by  the  hoary  beard 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION.  27 

that  descended  on  his  breast.  He  made  a  gesture  at 
once  of  encouragement  and  warning,  then  turned 
again,  and  resumed  his  way. 

"Who  is  this  gray  patriarch?"  asked  the  young 
men  of  their  sires. 

"  Who  is  this  venerable  brother?"  asked  the  old 
men  among  themselves. 

But  none  could  make  reply.  The  fathers  of  the 
people,  those  of  fourscore  years  and  upwards,  were 
disturbed,  deeming  it  strange  that  they  should  forget 
one  of  such  evident  authority,  whom  they  must  have 
known  in  their  early  days,  the  associate  of  Winthrop, 
and  all  the  old  councillors,  giving  laws,  and  making 
prayers,  and  leading  them  against  the  savage.  The 
elderly  men  ought  to  have  remembered  him,  too,  with 
locks  as  gray  in  their  youth,  as  their  own  were  now. 
And  the  young !  How  could  he  have  passed  so  ut 
terly  from  their  memories  —  that  hoary  sire,  the  relic 
of  long-departed  times,  whose  awful  benediction  had 
surely  been  bestowed  on  their  uncovered  heads,  in 
childhood  ? 

"  Whence  did  he  come  ?  What  is  his  purpose  ? 
Who  can  this  old  man  be  ?  "  whispered  the  wondering 
crowd. 

Meanwhile,  the  venerable  stranger,  staff  in  hand, 
was  pursuing  his  solitary  walk  along  the  centre  of  the 
street.  As  he  drew  near  the  advancing  soldiers,  and 
as  the  roll  of  their  drum  came  full  upon  his  ear,  the 
old  man  raised  himself  to  a  loftier  mien,  while  the 
decrepitude  of  age  seemed  to  fall  from  his  shoulders, 
leaving  him  in  gray  but  unbroken  dignity.  Xow,  he 
marched  onward  with  a  warrior's  step,  keeping  time 
to  the  military  music.  Thus  the  aged  form  advanced 
on  one  side,  and  the  whole  parade  of  soldiers  and 


28  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

magistrates  on  the  other,  till,  when  scarcely  twenty 
yards  remained  between,  the  old  man  grasped  his  staff 
by  the  middfe,  and  held  it  before  him  like  a  leader's 
truncheon. 

"  Stand !  "  cried  he. 

The  eye,  the  face,  and  attitude  of  command;  the 
solemn,  yet  warlike  peal  of  that  voice,  fit  either  to 
rule  a  host  in  the  battle-field  or  be  raised  to  God  in 
prayer,  were  irresistible.  At  the  old  man's  word  and 
outstretched  arm,  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  hushed  at 
once,  and  the  advancing  line  stood  still.  A  tremulous 
enthusiasm  seized  upon  tho  multitude.  That  stately 
form,  combining  the  leader  and  the  saint,  so  grav.  so 
dimly  seen,  in  such  an  ancient  garb,  could  only  be 
long  to  some  ol'd  champion  of  the  righteous  cause, 
whom  the  oppressor's  drum  had  summoned  from  his 
grave.  They  raised  a  shout  of  awe  and  exultation, 
and  looked  for  the  deliverance  of  New  England. 

The  Governor,  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  party,  per 
ceiving  themselves  brought  to  an  unexpected  stand, 
rode  hastily  forward,  as  if  they  would  have  pressed 
their  snorting  and  affrighted  horses  right  against  the 
hoary  apparition.  He,  however,  blenched  not  a  step, 
but  glancing  his  severe  eye  round  the  group,  which 
half  encompassed  him,  at  last  bent  it  sternly  on  Sir 
Edmund  Andros.  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
dark  old  man  was  chief  ruler  there,  and  that  the  Gov 
ernor  and  Council,  with  soldiers  at  their  back,  repre 
senting  the  whole  power  and  authority  of  the  Crown, 
had  no  alternative  but  obedience. 

"  What  does  this  old  fellow  here  ?  "  cried  Edward 
Randolph,  fiercely.  "  On,  Sir  Edmund !  Bid  the  sol 
diers  forward,  and  give  the  dotard  the  same  choice 
that  you  give  all  his  countrymen  —  to  stand  aside  or 
be  trampled  on  1 " 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION.  29 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  us  show  respect  to  the  good  grand- 
sire,"  said  Bullivant,  laughing.  "  See  you  not,  he  is 
some  old  round-headed  dignitary,  who  hath  lain  asleep 
these  thirty  years,  and  knows  nothing  of  the  change  of 
times  ?  Doubtless,  he  thinks  to  put  us  down  with  a 
proclamation  in  Old  Noll's  name !  " 

44  Are  you  mad,  old  man  ?  "  demanded  Sir  Edmund 
Andros,  in  loud  and  harsh  tones.  "  How  dare  you 
stay  the  march  of  King  James's  Governor  ?  " 

44 1  have  stayed  the  march  of  a  King  himself,  ere 
now,"  replied  the  gray  figure,  with  stern  composure. 
44 1  am  here,  Sir  Governor,  because  the  cry  of  an  op 
pressed  people  hath  disturbed  me  in  my  secret  place ; 
and  beseeching  this  favor  earnestly  of  the  Lord,  it  was 
vouchsafed  me  to  appear  once  again  on  earth,  in  the 
good  old  cause  of  his  saints.  And  what  speak  ye  of 
James?  There  is  no  longer  a  Popish  tyrant  on  the 
throne  of  England,  and  by  to-morrow  noon,  his  namo 
shall  be  a  byword  in  this  very  street,  where  ye  woidd 
make  it  a  word  of  terror.  Back,  thou  that  wast  a  Gov 
ernor,  back !  With  this  night  thy  power  is  ended  — 
to-morrow,  the  prison !  —  back,  lest  I  foretell  the  scaf 
fold  !  " 

The  people  had  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  drinking  in  the  words  of  their  champion,  who 
spoke  in  accents  long  disused,  like  one  unaccustomed 
to  converse,  except  with  the  dead  of  many  years  ago. 
But  his  voice  stirred  their  souls.  They  confronted  the 
soldiers,  not  wholly  without  arms,  and  ready  to  con 
vert  the  very  stones  of  the  street  into  deadly  weapons. 
Sir  Edmund  Andros  looked  at  the  old  man  ;  then  he 
cast  his  hard  and  cruel  eve  over  the  multitude,  and 
beheld  them  burning  with  that  lurid  wrath,  so  difficult 
to  kindle  or  to  quench ;  and  again  he  fixed  his  gaze  uu 


80  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

the  aged  form,  which  stood  obscurely  in  an  open  space, 
where  neither  friend  nor  foe  had  thrust  himself.  What 
were  his  thoughts,  he  uttered  no  word  which  might 
discover.  But  whether  the  oppressor  were  overawed 
by  the  Gray  Champion's  look,  or  perceived  his  peril 
in  the  threatening  attitude  of  the  people,  it  is  certain 
that  he  gave  back,  and  ordered  his  soldiers  to  com 
mence  a  slow  and  guarded  retreat.  Before  another 
sunset,  the  Governor,  and  all  that  rode  so  proudly  with 
him,  were  prisoners,  and  long  ere  it  was  known  that 
James  had  abdicated,  King  William  was  proclaimed 
throughout  New  England. 

But  where  was  the  Gray  Champion?  Some  re 
ported  that,  when  the  troops  had  gone  from  King 
Street,  and  the  people  were  thronging  tumultuously  in 
their  rear,  Bradstreet,  the  aged  Governor,  was  seen 
to  embrace  a  form  more  aged  than  his  own.  Others 
soberly  affirmed,  that  while  they  marvelled  at  the  ven 
erable  grandeur  of  his  aspect,  the  old  man  had  faded 
from  their  eyes,  melting  slowly  into  the  hues  of  twi 
light,  till,  where  he  stood,  there  was  an  empty  space. 
But  all  agreed  that  the  hoary  shape  was  gone.  The 
men  of  that  generation  watched  for  his  reappearance, 
in  sunshine  and  in  twilight,  but  never  saw  him  more, 
nor  knew  when  his  funeral  passed,  nor  where  his 
gravestone  was. 

And  who  was  the  Gray  Champion?  Perhaps  his 
name  might  be  found  in  the  records  of  that  stern 
Court  of  Justice,  which  passed  a  sentence,  too  mighty 
for  the  age,  but  glorious  in  all  after-times,  for  its  hum 
bling  lesson  to  the  monarch  and  its  high  example  to 
the  subject.  I  have  heard,  that  whenever  the  descend 
ants  of  the  Puritans  are  to  show  the  spirit  of  their 
•dres,  the  old  man  appears  again.  When  eighty  years 


THE   GRAY  CHAMPION.  31 

had  passed,  he  walked  once  more  in  King  Street.  Five 
years  later,  in  the  twilight  of  an  April  morning,  he 
stood  on  the  green,  beside  the  meeting-house,  at  Lex 
ington,  where  now  the  obelisk  of  granite,  with  a  slab 
of  slate  inlaid,  commemorates  the  first  fallen  of  the 
Revolution.  And  when  our  fathers  were  toiling  at 
the  breastwork  on  Bunker's  Hill,  all  through  that 
night  the  old  warrior  walked  his  rounds.  Long,  long 
may  it  be,  ere  he  comes  again !  His  hour  is  one  of 
darkness,  and  adversity,  and  peril.  But  should  do 
mestic  tyranny  oppress  us,  or  the  invader's  step  pollute 
our  soil,  still  may  the  Gray  Champion  come,  for  he 
is  the  type  of  New  England's  hereditary  spirit ;  and 
his  shadowy  march,  on  the  eve  of  danger,  must  ever 
be  the  pledge,  that  New  England's  sous  will  vindicate 
their  ancestry. 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME. 

EVERY  Sabbath  morning  in  the  summer  time,  I 
thrust  back  the  curtain,  to  watch  the  sunrise  stealing 
down  a  steeple  which  stands  opposite  my  chamber 
window.  First,  the  weather-cock  begins  to  flash ;  then, 
a  fainter  lustre  gives  the  spire  an  airy  aspect ;  next,  it 
encroaches  on  the  tower,  and  causes  the  index  of  the 
dial  to  glisten  like  gold  as  it  points  to  the  gilded  figure 
of  the  hour.  Now,  the  loftiest  window  gleams,  and 
now  the  lower.  The  carved  frame-work  of  the  portal 
is  marked  strongly  out.  At  length,  the  morning  glory, 
in  its  descent  from  heaven,  comes  down  the  stone 
steps,  one  by  one ;  and  there  stands  the  steeple,  glow 
ing  with  fresh  radiance,  while  the  shades  of  twilight 
still  hide  themselves  among  the  nooks  of  the  adjacent 
buildings.  Methinks,  though  the  same  sun  brightens 
it  every  fair  morning,  yet  the  steeple  has  a  peculiar 
robe  of  brightness  for  the  Sabbath. 

By  dwelling  near  a  church,  a  person  soon  contracts 
an  attachment  for  the  edifice.  We  naturally  personify 
it,  and  conceive  its  massy  walls,  and  its  dim  emptiness, 
to  be  instinct  with  a  calm,  and  meditative,  and  some 
what  melancholy  spirit.  But  the  steeple  stands  fore 
most,  in  our  thoughts,  as  well  as  locally.  It  impresses 
us  as  a  giant,  with  a  mind  comprehensive  and  discrimi 
nating  enough  to  care  for  the  great  and  small  concerns 
of  all  the  town.  Hourly,  while  it  speaks  a  moral  to 
the  few  that  think,  it  reminds  thousands  of  busy  indi 
viduals  of  their  separate  and  most  secret  affairs.  It 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME.  33 

is  the  steeple,  too,  that  flings  abroad  the  hurried  and 
irregular  accents  of  general  alarm  ;  neither  have  glad 
ness  and  festivity  found  a  better  utterance  than  by  its 
tongue ;  and  when  the  dead  are  slowly  passing  to  their 
home,  the  steeple  has  a  melancholy  voice  to  bid  them 
welcome.  Yet,  in  spite  of  this  connection  with  human 
interests,  what  a  moral  loneliness,  on  week  days,  broods 
round  about  its  stately  height !  It  has  no  kindred  with 
the  houses  above  which  it  towers ;  it  looks  down  into 
the  narrow  thoroughfare,  the  lonelier,  because  the 
crowd  are  elbowing  their  passage  at  its  base.  A 
glance  at  the  body  of  the  church  deepens  this  impres 
sion.  Within,  by  the  light  of  distant  windows,  amid 
refracted  shadows,  we  discern  the  vacant  pews  and 
empty  galleries,  the  silent  organ,  the  voiceless  pulpit, 
and  the  clock,  which  tells  to  solitude  how  time  is  pass 
ing.  Time  —  where  man  lives  not  —  what  is  it  but 
eternity?  And  in  the  church,  we  might  suppose,  are 
garnered  up,  throughout  the  week,  all  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  have  reference  to  eternity,  until  the  holy 
day  comes  round  again,  to  let  them  forth.  Might  not, 
then,  its  more  appropriate  site  be  in  the  outskirts  of 
the  town,  with  space  for  old  trees  to  wave  around  it, 
and  throw  their  solemn  shadows  over  a  quiet  green  ? 
Wo  will  say  more  of  this,  hereafter. 

But,  on  the  Sabbath,  I  watch  the  earliest  sun 
shine,  and  fancv  that  a  holier  brightness  marks  the 
day,  when  there  shall  be  no  buzz  of  voices  on  the  ex 
change,  nor  traffic  in  the  shops,  nor  crowd,  nor  busi 
ness,  anywhere  but  at  church.  Many  have  fancied  so. 
For  my  own  part,  whether  I  see  it  scattered  down 
among  tangled  woods,  or  beaming  broad  across  the 
fields,  or  hemmed  in  between  brick  buildings,  or  trac 
ing  out  the  figure  of  the  casement  on  my  chamber 

VOL.    I.  3 


84  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

floor,  still  I  recognize  the  Sabbath  sunshine.  And 
ever  let  me  recognize  it!  Some  illusions,  and  this 
among  them,  are  the  shadows  of  great  truths.  Doubts 
may  flit  around  me,  or  seem  to  close  their  evil  wings, 
and  settle  down ;  but,  so  long  as  I  imagine  that  the 
earth  is  hallowed,  and  the  light  of  heaven  retains  its 
sanctity,  on  the  Sabbath  —  while  that  blessed  sunshine 
lives  within  me  —  never  can  my  soul  have  lost  the  in 
stinct  of  its  faith.  If  it  have  gone  astray,  it  will  re 
turn  again. 

I  love  to  spend  such  pleasant  Sabbaths,  from  morn 
ing  till  night,  behind  the  curtain  of  my  open  window. 
Are  they  spent  amiss  ?  Every  spot,  so  near  the  church 
as  to  be  visited  by  the  circling  shadow  of  the  steeple, 
should  be  deemed  consecrated  ground,  to-day.  With 
stronger  truth  be  it  said,  that  a  devout  heart  may  con 
secrate  a  den  of  thieves,  as  an  evil  one  may  convert  a 
temple  to  the  same.  My  heart,  perhaps,  has  not  such 
holy,  nor,  I  would  fain  trust,  such  impious  potency. 
It  must  suffice,  that,  though  my  form  be  absent,  my 
inner  man  goes  constantly  to  church,  while  many, 
whose  bodily  presence  fills  the  accustomed  seats,  have 
left  their  souls  at  home.  But  I  am  there,  even  before 
my  friend,  the  sexton.  At  length,  he  comes  —  a  man 
of  kindly,  but  sombre  aspect,  in  dark  gray  clothes,  and 
hair  of  the  same  mixture — he  comes  and  applies  his 
key  to  the  wide  portal.  Now,  my  thoughts  may  go  in 
among  the  dusty  pews,  or  ascend  the  pulpit,  without 
sacrilege,  but  soon  come  forth  again  to  enjoy  the  music 
of  the  bell.  How  glad,  yet  solemn  too  !  All  the  stee 
ples  in  town  are  talking  together,  aloft  in  the  sunny 
air,  and  rejoicing  among  themselves,  while  their  spires 
point  heavenward.  Meantime,  here  are  the  children 
assembling  to  the  Sabbath-school,  which  is  kept  some. 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME.  85 

where  within  the  church.  Often,  while  looking  at  the 
arched  portal,  I  have  been  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  a 
score  of  these  little  girls  and  boys,  in  pink,  blue,  yel 
low,  and  crimson  frocks,  bursting  suddenly  forth  into 
the  sunshine,  like  a  swarm  of  gay  butterflies  that  had 
been  shut  up  in  the  solemn  gloom.  Or  I  might  com 
pare  them  to  cherubs,  haunting  that  holy  place. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  second  ring 
ing  of  the  bell,  individuals  of  the  congregation  begin 
to  appear.  The  earliest  is  invariably  an  old  woman 
in  black,  whose  bent  frame  and  rounded  shoulders  are 
evidently  laden  with  some  heavy  affliction,  which  she  is 
eager  to  rest  upon  the  altar.  AVould  that  the  Sabbath 
came  twice  as  often,  for  the  sake  of  that  sorrowful  old 
soul !  There  is  an  elderly  man,  also,  who  arrives  in 
good  season,  and  leans  against  the  corner  of  the  tower, 
just  within  the  line  of  its  shadow,  looking  downward 
with  a  darksome  brow.  I  sometimes  fancy  that  the 
old  woman  is  the  happier  of  the  two.  After  these, 
others  drop  in  singly,  and  by  twos  and  threes,  either 
disappearing  through  the  doorway,  or  taking  their 
stand  in  its  vicinity.  At  last,  and  always  with  an  un 
expected  sensation,  the  bell  turns  in  the  steeple  over 
head,  and  throws  out  an  irregular  clangor,  jarring  the 
tower  to  its  foundation.  As  if  there  were  magic  in 
the  sound,  the  sidewalks  of  the  street,  both  up  and 
down  along,  are  immediately  thronged  with  two  long 
lines  of  people,  all  converging  hitherward,  and  stream 
ing  into  the  church.  Perhaps  the  far-off  roar  of  a 
coach  draws  nearer  —  a  deeper  thunder  by  its  contrast 
with  the  surrounding  stillness  —  until  it  sets  down  the 
wealthy  worshippers  at  the  portal,  among  their  hum 
blest  brethren.  Beyond  that  entrance,  in  theory  at 
least,  there  are  no  distinctions  of  earthly  rank ;  nor, 


86  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

indeed,  by  the  goodly  apparel  which  is  flaunting  in 
the  sun,  would  there  seem  to  be  such,  on  the  hither 
side.  Those  pretty  girls !  Why  will  they  disturb  my 
pious  meditations!  Of  all  days  in  the  week,  they 
should  strive  to  look  least  fascinating  on  the  Sabbath, 
instead  of  heightening  their  mortal  loveliness,  as  if  to 
rival  the  blessed  angels,  and  keep  our  thoughts  from 
heaven.  Were  I  the  minister  himself,  I  must  needs 
look.  One  girl  is  white  muslin  from  the  waist  up 
wards,  and  black  silk  downwards  to  her  slippers ;  a 
second  blushes  from  topknot  to  shoetie,  one  universal 
scarlet ;  another  shines  of  a  pervading  yellow,  as  if 
she  had  made  a  garment  of  the  sunshine.  The  greater 
part,  however,  have  adopted  a  milder  cheerfulness  of 
hue.  Their  veils,  especially  when  the  wind  raises  them, 
give  a  lightness  to  the  general  effect,  and  make  them 
appear  like  airy  phantoms,  as  they  flit  up  the  steps, 
and  vanish  into  the  sombre  doorway.  Nearly  all  — 
though  it  is  very  strange  that  I  should  know  it  —  wear 
white  stockings,  white  as  snow,  and  neat  slippers, 
laced  crosswise  with  black  ribbon,  pretty  high  above 
the  ankles.  A  white  stocking  is  infinitely  more  effec 
tive  than  a  black  one. 

Here  comes  the  clergyman,  slow  and  solemn,  in  se 
vere  simplicity,  needing  no  black  silk  gown  to  denote 
his  office.  His  aspect  claims  my  reverence,  but  cannot 
win  my  love.  Were  I  to  picture  Saint  Peter  keeping 
fast  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  frowning,  more  stern  than 
pitiful,  on  the  wretched  applicants,  that  face  should  be 
my  study.  By  middle  age,  or  sooner,  the  creed  has 
generally  wrought  upon  the  heart,  or  been  attempered 
by  it.  As  the  minister  passes  into  the  church  the  bell 
holds  its  iron  tongue,  and  all  the  low  murmur  of  the 
congregation  dies  away.  The  gray  sexton  looks  up  and 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME.  87 

down  the  street,  and  then  at  my  window  curtain, 
where,  through  the  small  peephole,  I  half  fancy  that 
he  has  caught  my  eye.  Xow  every  loiterer  has  gone 
in,  and  the  street  lies  asleep  in  the  quiet  sun,  while  a 
feeling  of  loneliness  comes  over  me,  and  brings  also 
an  uneasy  sense  of  neglected  privileges  and  duties. 
O,  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  church !  The  bustle  of  the 
rising  congregation  reaches  my  ears.  They  are  stand 
ing  up  to  pray.  Coidd  I  bring  my  heart  into  unison 
with  those  who  are  praying  in  yonder  church,  and  lift 
it  heavenward,  with  a  fervor  of  supplication,  but  no 
distinct  request,  would  not  that  be  the  safest  kind  of 
prayer  ?  "  Lord,  look  down  upon  me  in  mercy !  " 
With  that  sentiment  gushing  from  my  soul,  might  I 
not  leave  all  the  rest  to  Him  ? 

Hark!  the  hymn.  This,  at  least,  is  a  portion  of 
the  service  which  I  can  enjoy  better  than  if  I  sat 
within  the  walls,  where  the  full  choir  and  the  massive 
melody  of  the  organ  would  fall  with  a  weight  upon 
me.  At  this  distance  it  thrills  through  my  frame  and 
plays  upon  my  heartstrings  with  a  pleasure  both  of 
the  sense  and  spirit.  Heaven  be  praised,  I  know 
nothing  of  music  as  a  science ;  and  the  most  elaborate 
harmonies,  if  they  please  me,  please  as  simply  as  a 
nurse's  lullaby.  The  strain  has  ceased,  but  prolongs 
itself  in  my  mind  with  fanciful  echoes  till  I  start  from 
my  reverie,  and  find  that  the  sermon  has  commenced. 
It  is  my  misfortune  seldom  to  fructify,  in  a  regular 
way,  by  any  but  printed  sermons.  The  first  strong 
idea  which  the  preacher  utters  gives  birth  to  a  train 
of  thought,  and  leads  me  onward,  step  by  step,  quite 
out  of  hearing  of  the  good  man's  voice,  unless  he  be 
indeed  a  son  of  thunder.  At  my  open  window,  catch 
ing  now  and  then  a  sentence  of  the  "  parson's  saw,'' 


38  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

I  am  as  well  situated  as  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit 
stairs.  The  broken  and  scattered  fragments  of  this 
one  discourse  will  be  the  texts  of  many  sermons, 
preached  by  those  colleague  pastors  —  colleagues, 
but  often  disputants  —  my  Mind  and  Heart.  The 
former  pretends  to  be  a  scholar,  and  perplexes  me 
with  doctrinal  points  ;  the  latter  takes  me  on  the  score 
of  feeling;  and  both,  like  several  other  preachers, 
spend  their  strength  to  very  little  purpose.  I,  their 
sole  auditor,  cannot  always  understand  them. 

Suppose  that  a  few  hours  have  passed,  and  behold 
me  still  behind  my  curtain,  just  before  the  close  of 
the  afternoon  service.  The  hour  hand  on  the  dial  has 
passed  beyond  four  o'clock.  The  declining  sun  is  hid 
den  behind  the  steeple,  and  throws  its  shadow  straight 
across  the  street,  so  that  my  chamber  is  darkened  as 
with  a  cloud.  Around  the  church-door  all  is  solitude, 
and  an  impenetrable  obscurity  beyond  the  thresh 
old.  A  commotion  is  heard.  The  seats  are  slammed 
down,  and  the  pew-doors  thrown  back  —  a  multitude 
of  feet  are  trampling  along  the  unseen  aisles  —  and 
the  congregation  bursts  suddenly  through  the  portal. 
Foremost,  scampers  a  rabble  of  boys,  behind  whom 
moves  a  dense  and  dark  phalanx  of  grown  men,  and 
lastly,  a  crowd  of  females,  with  young  children,  and  a 
few  scattered  husbands.  This  instantaneous  outbreak 
of  life  into  loneliness  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  scenes 
of  the  day.  Some  of  the  good  people  are  rubbing 
their  eyes,  thereby  intimating  that  they  have  been 
wrapped,  as  it  were,  in  a  sort  of  holy  trance  by  the 
fervor  of  their  devotion.  There  is  a  young  man,  a 
third  rate  coxcomb,  whose  first  care  is  always  to  flour 
ish  a  white  handkerchief,  and  brush  the  seat  of  a  tigkt 
pair  of  black  silk  pantaloons,  which  shine  as  if  var 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME.  39 

aishecl.  They  must  have  been  made  of  the  stuff  called 
"  everlasting,"  or  perhaps  of  the  same  piece  as  Chris 
tian's  garments  in  the  *•  Pilgrim's  Progress,''  for  he 
put  them  on  two  summers  ago,  and  has  not  yet  worn 
the  gloss  off.  I  have  taken  a  great  liking  to  those 
black  silk  pantaloons.  But  now,  with  nods  and  greet 
ings  among  friends,  each  matron  takes  her  husband's 
arm  and  paces  gravely  homeward,  while  the  girls  also 
flutter  away  after  arranging  sunset  walks  with  their 
favored  bachelors.  The  Sabbath  eve  is  the  eve  of  love. 
At  length  the  whole  congregation  is  dispersed.  Xo  ; 
here,  with  faces  as  glossy  as  black  satin,  come  two 
sable  ladies  and  a  sable  gentleman,  and  close  in  their 
rear  the  minister,  who  softens  his  severe  visasre,  and 

O 

bestows  a  kind  word  on  each.  Poor  souls !  To  them 
the  most  captivating  picture  of  bliss  in  heaven  is  — 
44  There  we  shall  be  white  !  " 

All  is  solitude  again.  But,  hark !  —  a  broken  warb 
ling  of  voices,  and  now.  attuning  its  grandeur  to  their 
sweetness,  a  stately  peal  of  the  organ.  Who  are  the 
choristers  ?  Let  me  dream  that  the  angels,  who  came 
down  from  heaven,  this  blessed  mom,  to  blend  them 
selves  with  the  worship  of  the  truly  good,  are  playing 
and  singing  their  farewell  to  the  earth.  On  the  wings 
of  that  rich  melody  they  were  borne  upward. 

This,  gentle  reader,  is  merely  a  flight  of  poetry. 
A  few  of  the  singing  men  and  singing  women  had 
lingered  behind  their  fellows,  and  raised  their  voices 
fitfully,  and  blew  a  careless  note  upon  the  organ. 
Yet,  it  lifted  my  soul  higher  than  all  their  former 
strains.  They  are  gone  —  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
music  —  and  the  gray  sexton  is  just  closing  the  portaL 
For  six  days  more,  there  will  be  no  face  of  man  in 
the  pews,  and  aisles,  and  galleries,  nor  a  voice  in  the 


40  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

pulpit,  nor  music  in  the  choir.  Was  it  worth  while 
to  rear  this  massive  edifice,  to  be  a  desert  in  the  heart 
of  the  town,  and  populous  only  for  a  few  hours  of 
each  seventh  day  ?  O,  but  the  church  is  a  symbol  of 
religion.  May  its  site,  which  was  consecrated  on  the 
day  when  the  first  tree  was  felled,  be  kept  holy  for 
ever,  a  spot  of  solitude  and  peace,  amid  the  trouble 
and  vanity  of  our  week-day  world  !  There  is  a  moral, 
and  a  religion  too,  even  in  the  silent  walls.  And  may 
the  steeple  still  point  heavenward,  and  be  decked  with 
the  hallowed  sunshine  of  the  Sabbath  morn  ! 


THE  WEDDING  KNELL. 

THERE  is  a  certain  church  in  the  city  of  New  York 
which  I  have  always  regarded  with  peculiar  interest, 
on  account  of  a  marriage  there  solemnized,  under  very 
singular  circumstances,  in  my  grandmother's  girlhood. 
That  venerable  lady  chanced  to  be  a  spectator  of  the 
scene,  and  ever  after  made  it  her  favorite  narrative. 
Whether  the  edifice  now  standing  on  the  same  site  be 
the  identical  one  to  which  she  referred,  I  am  not  anti 
quarian  enough  to  know  ;  nor  would  it  be  worth  while 
to  correct  myself,  perhaps,  of  an  agreeable  error,  by 
reading  the  date  of  its  erection  on  the  tablet  over  the 
door.  It  is  a  stately  church,  surrounded  by  an  in- 
closure  of  the  loveliest  green,  within  which  appear 
urns,  pillars,  obelisks,  and  other  forms  of  monumental 
marble,  the  tributes  of  private  affection,  or  more  splen 
did  memorials  of  historic  dust.  With  such  a  place, 
though  the  tumult  of  the  city  rolls  beneath  its  tower, 
one  would  be  willing  to  connect  some  legendary  in 
terest. 

The  marriage  might  be  considered  as  the  result  of 
an  early  engagement,  though  there  had  been  two  in 
termediate  weddings  on  the  lady's  part,  and  forty 
years  of  celibacy  on  that  of  the  gentleman.  At  sixty- 
five,  Mr.  Ellenwood  was  a  shy,  but  not  quite  a  se 
cluded  man  ;  selfish,  like  all  men  who  brood  over  their 
own  hearts,  yet  manifesting  on  rare  occasions  a  vein 
of  generous  sentiment ;  a  scholar  throughout  life, 
though  always  an  indolent  one,  because  his  studies 


42  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

had  no  definite  object,  either  of  public  advantage  or 
personal  ambition  ;  a  gentleman,  high  bred  and  fas 
tidiously  delicate,  yet  sometimes  requiring  a  considera 
ble  relaxation,  in  his  behalf,  of  the  common  rules  of 
society.  In  truth,  there  were  so  many  anomalies  in 
his  character,  and  though  shrinking  with  diseased  sen 
sibility  from  public  notice,  it  had  been  his  fatality  so 
often  to  become  the  topic  of  the  day,  by  some  wild  ec 
centricity  of  conduct,  that  people  searched  his  lineage 
for  an  hereditary  taint  of  insanity.  But  there  was  no 
need  of  this.  His  caprices  had  their  origin  in  a  mind 
that  lacked  the  support  of  an  engrossing  purpose,  and 
in  feelings  that  preyed  upon  themselves  for  want  of 
other  food.  If  he  were  mad,  it  was  the  consequence, 
and  not  the  cause,  of  an  aimless  and  abortive  life. 

The  widow  was  as  complete  a  contrast  to  her  third 
bridegroom,  in  everything  but  age,  as  can  well  be  con 
ceived.  Compelled  to  relinquish  her  first  engagement, 
she  had  been  united  to  a  man  of  twice  her  own  years, 
to  whom  she  became  an  exemplary  wife,  and  by  whose 
death  she  was  left  in  possession  of  a  splendid  fortune. 
A  southern  gentleman,  considerably  younger  than  her 
self,  succeeded  to  her  hand,  and  carried  her  to  Charles 
ton,  where,  after  many  uncomfortable  years,  she  found 
herself  again  a  widow.  It  would  have  been  singular, 
if  any  uncommon  delicacy  of  feeling  had  survived 
through  such  a  life  as  Mrs.  Dabney's  ;  it  could  not 
but  be  crushed  and  killed  by  her  early  disappointment, 
the  cold  duty  of  her  first  marriage,  the  dislocation  of 
the  heart's  principles,  consequent  on  a  second  union, 
and  the  unkindness  of  her  southern  husband,  which 
had  inevitably  driven  her  to  connect  the  idea  of  his 
death  with  that  of  her  comfort.  To  be  brief,  she  was 
that  wisest,  but  imloveliest,  variety  of  woman,  a  phi- 


THE    WEDDING  KNELL.  43 

iosopher,  bearing  troubles  of  the  heart  with  equanimity, 
dispensing  with  all  that  should  have  been  her  happi 
ness,  and  making  the  best  of  what  remained.  Sage  in 
most  matters,  the  widow  was  perhaps  the  more  amia 
ble  for  the  one  frailty  that  made  her  ridiculous.  Be 
ing  childless,  she  could  not  remain  beautiful  by  proxy, 
in  the  person  of  a  daughter  ;  she  therefore  refused  to 
grow  old  and  ugly,  on  any  consideration ;  she  strug 
gled  with  Time,  and  held  fast  her  roses  in  spite  of 
him,  till  the  venerable  thief  appeared  to  have  relin 
quished  the  spoil,  as  not  worth  the  trouble  of  acquir 
ing  it. 

The  approaching  marriage  of  this  woman  of  the 
world  with  such  an  unworldly  man  as  Mr.  Ellenwood 
was  announced  soon  after  Mrs.  Dabney's  return  to 
her  native  city.  Superficial  observers,  and  deeper 
ones,  seemed  to  concur  in  supposing  that  the  lady 
must  have  borne  no  inactive  part  in  arranging  the 
affair ;  there  were  considerations  of  expediency  which 
she  would  be  far  more  likely  to  appreciate  than  Mr. 
Ellenwood;  and  there  was  just  the  specious  phantom 
of  sentiment  and  romance  in  this  late  union  of  two 
early  lovers  which  sometimes  makes  a  fool  of  a  woman 
who  has  lost  her  true  feelings  among  the  accidents  of 
life.  All  the  wonder  was,  how  the  gentleman,  with 
his  lack  of  worldly  wisdom  and  agonizing  conscious 
ness  of  ridicule,  could  have  been  induced  to  take  a 
measure  at  once  so  prudent  and  so  laughable .  But 
while  people  talked  the  wedding-day  arrived.  The 
ceremony  was  to  be  solemnized  according  to  the  Epis 
copalian  forms,  and  in  open  church,  with  a  degree  of 
publicity  that  attracted  many  spectators,  who  occupied 
the  front  seats  of  the  galleries,  and  the  pews  near  the 
altar  and  along-  the  broad  aisle.  It  had  been  arranged, 


44  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

or  possibly  it  was  the  custom  of  the  day,  that  the  par 
ties  should  proceed  separately  to  church.  By  some 
accident  the  bridegroom  was  a  little  less  punctual  than 
the  widow  and  her  bridal  attendants ;  with  whose  ar 
rival,  after  this  tedious,  but  necessary  preface,  the 
action  of  our  tale  may  be  said  to  commence. 

The  clumsy  wheels  of  several  old-fashioned  coaches 
were  heard,  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  composing 
the  bridal  party  came  through  the  church  door  with 
the  sudden  and  gladsome  effect  of  a  burst  of  sunshine. 
The  whole  group,  except  the  principal  figure,  was 
made  up  of  youth  and  gayety.  As  they  streamed  up 
the  broad  aisle,  while  the  pews  and  pillars  seemed  to 
brighten  on  either  side,  their  steps  were  as  buoyant  as 
if  they  mistook  the  church  for  a  ball-room,  and  were 
ready  to  dance  hand  in  hand  to  the  altar.  So  brilliant 
was  the  spectacle  that  few  took  notice  of  a  singular 
phenomenon  that  had  marked  its  entrance.  At  the 
moment  when  the  bride's  foot  touched  the  threshold 
the  bell  swung  heavily  in  the  tower  above  her,  and 
sent  forth  its  deepest  knell.  The  vibrations  died  away 
and  returned  with  prolonged  solemnity,  as  she  entered 
the  body  of  the  church. 

"Good  heavens !  what  an  omen,"  whispered  a  young 
lady  to  her  lover. 

"  On  my  honor,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "  I  believe 
the  bell  has  the  good  taste  to  toll  of  its  own  accord. 
What  has  she  to  do  with  weddings?  If  you,  dearest 
Julia,  were  approaching  the  altar  the  bell  would  ring 
out  its  merriest  peal.  It  has  only  a  funeral  knell  for 
her." 

The  bride  and  most  of  her  company  had  been  too 
much  occupied  with  the  bustle  of  entrance  to  hear  the 
first  boding  stroke  of  the  bell,  or  at  least  to  reflect  on 


THE    WEDDING  KNELL.  45 

the  singularity  of  such  a  welcome  to  the  altar.  They 
therefore  continued  to  advance  with  undiniinished 
gayety.  The  gorgeous  dresses  of  the  time,  the  crim 
son  velvet  coats,  the  gold-laced  hats,  the  hoop  petti 
coats,  the  silk,  satin,  brocade,  and  embroidery,  the 
buckles,  canes,  and  swords,  all  displayed  to  the  best 
advantage  on  persons  suited  to  such  finery,  made  the 
group  appear  more  like  a  bright-colored  picture  than 
anything  real.  But  by  what  perversity  of  taste  had 
the  artist  represented  his  principal  figure  as  so  wrin 
kled  and  decayed,  while  yet  he  had  decked  her  out  in 
the  brightest  splendor  of  attire,  as  if  the  loveliest 
maiden  had  suddenly  withered  into  age,  and  become  a 
moral  to  the  beautiful  around  her !  On  they  went, 
however,  and  had  glittered  along  about  a  third  of  the 
aisle,  when  another  stroke  of  the  bell  seemed  to  fill 
the  church  with  a  visible  gloom,  dimming  and  obscur 
ing  the  bright  pageant,  till  it  shone  forth  again  as 
from  a  mist. 

This  time  the  party  wavered,  stopped,  and  huddled 
closer  together,  while  a  slight  scream  was  heard  from 
some  of  the  ladies,  and  a  confused  whispering  among 
the  gentlemen.  Thus  tossing  to  and  fro,  they  might 
have  been  fancifully  compared  to  a  splendid  bunch  of 
flowers,  suddenly  shaken  by  a  puff  of  wind,  which 
threatened  to  scatter  the  leaves  of  an  old,  brown,  with 
ered  rose,  on  the  same  stalk  with  two  dewy  buds,  — 
such  being  the  emblem  of  the  widow  between  her  fair 
young  bridemaids.  But  her  heroism  was  admirable. 
She  had  started  with  an  irrepressible  shudder,  as  if 
the  stroke  of  the  bell  had  fallen  directly  on  her  heart ; 
then,  recovering  herself,  while  her  attendants  were 
yet  in  dismay,  she  took  the  lead,  and  paced  calmly 
up  the  aisle.  The  bell  continued  to  swing,  strike,  and 


46  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

vibrate,  with  the  same  doleful  regularity  as  when  a 
corpse  is  on  its  way  to  the  tomb. 

"  My  young  friends  here  have  their  nerves  a  little 
shaken,"  said  the  widow,  with  a  smile,  to  the  clergy 
man  at  the  altar.  "  But  so  many  weddings  have  been 
ushered  in  with  the  merriest  peal  of  the  bells,  and  yet 
turned  out  unhappily,  that  I  shall  hope  for  better  for 
tune  under  such  different  auspices." 

"  Madam,"  answered  the  rector,  in  great  perplexity, 
"  this  strange  occurrence  brings  to  my  mind  a  mar 
riage  sermon  of  the  famous  Bishop  Taylor,  wherein 
he  mingles  so  many  thoughts  of  mortality  and  future 
woe,  that,  to  speak  somewhat  after  his  own  rich  style, 
he  seems  to  hang  the  bridal  chamber  in  black,  and 
cut  the  wedding  garment  out  of  a  coffin  pall.  And 
it  has  been  the  custom  of  divers  nations  to  infuse 
something  of  sadness  into  their  marriage  ceremonies, 
so  to  keep  death  in  mind  while  contracting  that  en 
gagement  which  is  life's  chiefest  business.  Thus  we 
may  draw  a  sad  but  profitable  moral  from  this  funeral 
knell." 

But,  though  the  clergyman  might  have  given  his 
moral  even  a  keener  point,  he  did  not  fail  to  dispatch 
an  attendant  to  inquire  into  the  mystery,  and  stop 
those  sounds,  so  dismally  appropriate  to  such  a  mar 
riage.  A  brief  space  elapsed,  during  which  the  si 
lence  was  broken  only  by  whispers,  and  a  few  sup 
pressed  titterings,  among  the  wedding  party  and  the 
spectators,  who,  after  the  first  shock,  were  disposed  to 
draw  an  ill-natured  merriment  from  the  affair.  The 
young  have  less  charity  for  aged  follies  than  the  old 
for  those  of  youth.  The  widow's  glance  was  observed 
to  wander,  for  an  instant,  towards  a  window  of 'the 
church,  as  if  searching  for  the  time-worn  marble  that 


THE    WEDDING  KNELL.  47 

she  had  dedicated  to  her  first  husband  ;  then  her  eye 
lids  dropped  over  their  faded  orbs,  and  her  thoughts 
were  drawn  irresistibly  to  another  grave.  Two  buried 
men,  with  a  voice  at  her  ear,  and  a  cry  afar  off,  were 
calling  her  to  lie  down  beside  them.  Perhaps,  with 
momentary  truth  of  feeling,  she  thought  how  much 
happier  had  been  her  fate,  if,  after  years  of  bliss,  the 
bell  were  now  tolling  for  her*  funeral,  and  she  were 
followed  to  the  grave  by  the  old  affection  of  her  ear 
liest  lover,  long  her  husband.  But  why  had  she  re 
turned  to  him,  when  their  cold  hearts  shrank  from 
each  other's  embrace? 

Still  the  death-bell  tolled  so  mournfully,  that  the 
sunshine  seemed  to  fade  in  the  air.  A  whisper,  com 
municated  from  those  who  stood  nearest  the  windows, 
now  spread  through  the  church ;  a  hearse,  with  a  train 
of  several  coaches,  was  creeping  along  the  street,  con 
veying  some  dead  man  to  the  churchyard,  while  the 
bride  awaited  a  living  one  at  the  altar.  Immediately 
after,  the  footsteps  of  the  bridegroom  and  his  friends 
were  heard  at  the  door.  The  widow  looked  down  the 
aisle,  and  clinched  the  arm  of  one  of  her  bridemaids 
in  her  bony  hand  with  such  unconscious  violence,  that 
the  fair  girl  trembled. 

"  You  frighten  me,  my  dear  madam !  "  cried  she. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Nothing,  my  dear,  nothing,"  said  the  widow  ;  then, 
whispering  close  to  her  ear,  u  There  is  a  foolish 
fancy  that  I  cannot  get  rid  of.  I  am  expecting  my 
bridegroom  to  come  into  the  church,  with  my  first 
two  husbands  for  groomsmen  !  " 

"  Look,  look  !  "  screamed  the  bridemaid.  "  What 
is  here  ?  The  funeral !  " 

As  she  spoke,  a  dark   procession   paced   into   the 


48  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

church.  First  came  an  old  man  and  woman,  like  chief 
mourners  at  a  funeral,  attired  from  head  to  foot  in  the 
deepest  black,  all  but  their  pale  features  and  hoary 
hair ;  he  leaning  on  a  staff,  and  supporting  her  de 
crepit  form  with  his  nerveless  arm.  Behind  appeared 
another,  and  another  pair,  as  aged,  as  black,  and 
mournful  as  the  first.  As  they  drew  near,  the  widow 
recognized  in  every  face  some  trait  of  former  friends, 
long  forgotten,  but  now  returning,  as  if  from  their  old 
graves,  to  warn  her  to  prepare  a  shroud  ;  or,  with  pur 
pose  almost  as  unwelcome,  to  exhibit  their  wrinkles 
and  infirmity,  and  claim  her  as  their  companion  by 
the  tokens  of  her  own  decay.  Many  a  merry  night 
had  she  danced  with  them,  in  youth.  And  now,  in 
joyless  age,  she  felt  that  some  withered  partner  should 
request  her  hand,  and  all  unite,  in  a  dance  of  death, 
to  the  music  of  the  funeral  bell. 

While  these  aged  mourners  were  passing  up  the 
aisle,  it  was  observed  that,  from  pew  to  pew,  the  spec 
tators  shuddered  with  irrepressible  awe,  as  some  ob 
ject,  hitherto  concealed  by  the  intervening  figures, 
came  full  in  sight.  Many  turned  away  their  faces ; 
others  kept  a  fixed  and  rigid  stare  ;  and  a  young  girl 
giggled  hysterically,  and  fainted  with  the  laughter  on 
her  lips.  When  the  spectral  procession  approached 
the  altar,  each  couple  separated,  and  slowly  diverged, 
till,  in  the  centre,  appeared  a  form,  that  had  been 
worthily  ushered  in  with  all  this  gloomy  pomp,  the 
death  knell,  and  the  funeral.  It  was  the  bridegroom 
in  his  shroud  ! 

No  garb  but  that  of  the  grave  could  have  befitted 
such  a  deathlike  aspect ;  the  eyes,  indeed,  had  the 
wild  gleam  of  a  sepulchral  lamp ;  all  else  was  fixed  in 
the  stern  calmness  which  old  men  wear  in  the  coffin. 


THE    WEDDING  KNELL.  49 

The  corpse  stood  motionless,  but  addressed  the  widow 
in  accents  that  seemed  to  melt  into  the  clang  of  the 
bell,  which  fell  heavily  on  the  air  while  he  spoke. 

"Come,  my  bride!"  said  those  pale  lips,  "the 
hearse  is  ready.  The  sexton  stands  waiting  for  us  at 
the  door  of  the  tomb.  Let  us  be  married ;  and  then 
to  our  coffins !  " 

How  shall  the  widow's  horror  be  represented  ?  It 
gave  her  the  ghastliness  of  a  dead  man's  bride.  Her 
youthful  friends  stood  apart,  shuddering  at  the  mourn 
ers,  the  shrouded  bridegroom,  and  herself ;  the  whole 
scene  expressed,  by  the  strongest  imagery,  the  vain 
struggle  of  the  gilded  vanities  of  this  world,  when  op 
posed  to  age,  infirmity,  sorrow,  and  death.  The  awe 
struck  silence  was  first  broken  by  the  clergyman. 

"  Mr.  Ellen  wood,"  said  he,  soothingly,  yet  with 
somewhat  of  authority,  "you  are  not  well.  Your 
mind  has  been  agitated  by  the  unusual  circumstances 
in  which  you  are  placed.  The  ceremony  must  be  de 
ferred.  As  an  old  friend,  let  me  entreat  you  to  re 
turn  home." 

"  Home  !  yes,  but  not  without  my  bride,"  answered 
he,  in  the  same  hollow  accents.  "  You  deem  this 
mockery ;  perhaps  madness.  Had  I  bedizened  my 
aged  and  broken  frame  with  scarlet  and  embroidery 
—  had  I  forced  my  withered  lips  to  smile  at  my  dead 
heart  —  that  might  have  been  mockery,  or  madness. 
But  now,  let  young  and  old  declare,  which  of  us  has 
come  hither  without  a  wedding  garment,  the  bride 
groom  or  the  bride  !  " 

He  stepped  forward  at  a  ghostly  pace,  and  stood  be 
side  the  widow,  contrasting  the  awful  simplicity  of 
his  shroud  with  the  glare  and  glitter  in  which  she  had 
arrayed  herself  for  this  unhappy  scene.  None,  that 


VOL.  i. 


50  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

beheld  them,  could  deny  the  terrible  strength  of  the 
moral  which  his  disordered  intellect  had  contrived  to 
draw. 

"  Cruel !  cruel !  "  groaned  the  heart-stricken  bride. 

"  Cruel ! "  repeated  he  ;  then,  losing  his  deathlike 
composure  in  a  wild  bitterness :  "  Heaven  judge 
which  of  us  has  been  cruel  'to  the  other  !  In  youth 
you  deprived  me  of  my  happiness,  my  hopes,  my  aims  ; 
you  took  away  all  the  substance  of  my  life,  and  made 
it  a  dream  without  reality  enough  even  to  grieve  at  — 
with  only  a  pervading  gloom,  through  which  I  walked 
wearily,  and  cared  not  whither.  But  after  forty  years, 
when  I  have  built  my  tomb,  and  would  not  give  up 
the  thought  of  resting  there  —  no,  not  for  such  a  life 
as  we  once  pictured  —  you  call  me  to  the  altar.  At 
your  summons  1  am  here.  But  other  husbands  have 
enjoyed  your  youth,  your  beauty,  your  warmth  of 
heart,  and  all  that  could  be  termed  your  life.  What 
is  there  for  me  but  your  decay  and  death?  And 
therefore  I  have  bidden  these  funeral  friends,  and  be 
spoken  the  sexton's  deepest  knell,  and  am  come,  in  my 
shroud,  to  wed  you,  as  with  a  burial  service,  that  we 
may  join  our  hands  at  the  door  of  the  sepulchre,  and 
enter  it  together." 

It  was  not  frenzy ;  it  was  not  merely  the  drunken 
ness  of  strong  emotion,  in  a  heart  unused  to  it,  that 
now  wrought  upon  the  bride.  The  stern  lesson  of  the 
day  had  done  its  work ;  her  worldliness  was  gone. 
She  seized  the  bridegroom's  hand. 

"  Yes !  "  cried  she.  "  Let  us  wed,  even  at  the  door 
of  the  sepulchre!  My  life  is  gone  in  vanity  and 
emptiness.  But  at  its  close  there  is  one  true  feeling. 
It  has  made  me  what  I  was  in  youth  ;  it  makes  me 
worthy  of  you.  Time  is  no  more  for  both  of  us.  Let 
us  wed  for  Eternity!  " 


THE    WEDDING  KNELL.  51 

"With  a  long  and  deep  regard,  the  bridegroom 
looked  into  her  eyes,  while  a  tear  was  gathering  in 
his  own.  How  strange  that  gush  of  human  feeling 
from  the  frozen  bosom  of  a  corpse !  He  wiped  away 
the  tears  even  with  his  shroud. 

"  Beloved  of  my  youth,"  said  he,  "  1  have  been 
wild.  The  despair  of  my  whole  lifetime  had  returned 
at  once,  and  maddened  me.  Forgive ;  and  be  for 
given.  Yes  ;  it  is  evening  with  us  now ;  and  we  have 
realized  none  of  our  morning  dreams  of  happiness. 
But  let  us  join  our  hands  before  the  altar,  as  lovers 
whom  adverse  circumstances  have  separated  through 
life,  yet  who  meet  again  as  they  are  leaving  it,  and 
find  their  earthly  affection  changed  into  something 
holy  as  religion.  And  what  is  Time,  to  the  married 
of  Eternity?" 

Amid  the  tears  of  many,  and  a  swell  of  exalted 
sentiment,  in  those  who  felt  aright,  was  solemnized 
the  union  of  two  immortal  souls.  The  train  of  with 
ered  mourners,  the  hoary  bridegroom  in  his  shroud, 
the  pale  features  of  the  aged  bride,  and  the  death- 
bell  tolling  through  the  whole,  till  its  deep  voice  over 
powered  the  marriage  words,  all  marked  the  funeral 
of  earthly  hopes.  But  as  the  ceremony  proceeded, 
the  organ,  as  if  stirred  by  the  sympathies  of  this  im 
pressive  scene,  poured  forth  an  anthem,  first  mingling 
with  the  dismal  knell,  then  rising  to  a  loftier  strain, 
till  the  soul  looked  down  upon  its  woe.  And  when 
the  awful  rite  was  finished,  and  with  cold  hand  in  cold 
hand,  the  Married  of  Eternity  withdrew,  the  organ's 
peal  of  solemn  triumph  drowned  the  Wedding  Knell. 


THE  MINISTER'S   BLACK  VEIL. 

A   PARABLE.1 

THE  sexton  stood  in  the  porch  of  Milford  meeting 
house,  pulling  busily  at  the  bell-rope.  The  old  peo 
ple  of  the  village  came  stooping  along  the  street. 
Children,  with  bright  faces,  tripped  merrity  beside 
their  parents,  or  mimicked  a  graver  gait,  in  the  con 
scious  dignity  of  their  Sunday  clothes.  Spruce  bach 
elors  looked  sidelong  at  the  pretty  maidens,  and  fan 
cied  that  the  Sabbath  sunshine  made  them  prettier 
than  on  week  days.  When  the  throng  had  mostly 
streamed  into  the  porch,  the  sexton  began  to  toll  the 
bell,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  Keverend  Mr.  Hooper's 
door.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  clergyman's  figure  was 
the  signal  for  the  bell  to  cease  its  summons. 

"  But  what  has  good  Parson  Hooper  got  upon  his 
face  ?  "  cried  the  sexton  in  astonishment. 

All  within  hearing  immediately  turned  about,  and 
beheld  the  semblance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  pacing  slowly 
his  meditative  way  towards  the  meeting-house.  With 
one  accord  they  started,  expressing  more  wonder  than 
if  some  strange  minister  were  coming  to  dust  the 
cushions  of  Mr.  Hooper's  pulpit. 

1  Another  clergyman  in  New  England,  Mr.  Joseph  Moody,  of  York, 
Maine,  who  died  about  eighty  years  since,  made  himself  remarkable 
by  the  same  eccentricity  that  is  here  related  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Hooper.  In  his  case,  however,  the  symbol  had  a  different  import 
In  early  life  he  had  accidentally  killed  a  beloved  friend  ;  and  'from 
that  day  till  the  hour  of  his  own  death,  he  hid  his  face  from  men. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK    VEIL.  53 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  our  parson  ?  "  inquired  Good 
man  Gray  of  the  sexton. 

"  Of  a  certainty  it  is  good  Mr.  Hooper,"  replied  the 
sexton.  "He  was  to  have  exchanged  pulpits  with 
Parson  Shute,  of  Westbury ;  but  Parson  Shute  sent 
to  excuse  himself  yesterday,  being  to  preach  a  funeral 
sermon/" 

The  cause  of  so  much  amazement  may  appear  suffi 
ciently  slight.  Mr.  Hooper,  a  gentlemanly  person,  of 
about  thirty,  though  still  a  bachelor,  was  dressed  with 
due  clerical  neatness,  as  if  a  carefid  wife  had  starched 
his  band,  and  brushed  the  weekly  dust  from  his  Sun 
day's  garb.  There  was  but  one  thing  remarkable  in 
his  appearance.  Swathed  about  his  forehead,  and 
hanging  down  over  his  face,  so  low  as  to  be  shaken 
by  his  breath,  Mr.  Hooper  had  on  a  black  veil.  On 
a  nearer  view  it  seemed  to  consist  of  two  folds  of 
crape,  which  entirely  concealed  his  features,  except 
the  mouth  and  chin,  but  probably  did  not  intercept 
his  sight,  further  than  to  give  a  darkened  aspect  to 
all  living  and  inanimate  things.  "With  this  gloomy 
shade  before  him,  good  Mr.  Hooper  walked  onward, 
at  a  slow  and  quiet  pace,  stooping  somewhat,  and  look 
ing  on  the  ground,  as  is  customary  with  abstracted 
men,  yet  nodding  kindly  to  those  of  his  parishioners 
who  still  waited  on  the  meeting-house  steps.  But  so 
wonder-struck  were  they  that  his  greeting  hardly  met 
with  a  return. 

"  I  can't  really  feel  as  if  good  Mr.  Hooper's  face 
was  behind  that  piece  of  crape,"  said  the  sexton. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  muttered  an  old  woman,  as  she 
hobbled  into  the  meeting-house.  "  He  has  changed 
himself  into  something  awful,  only  by  hiding  his  face." 

"  Our  parson  has  gone  mad  !  "  cried  Goodman  Gray, 
following  him  across  the  threshold. 


54  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

A  rumor  of  some  unaccountable  phenomenon  had 
preceded  Mr.  Hooper  into  the  meeting-house,  and  set 
all  the  congregation  astir.  Few  could  refrain  from 
twisting  their  heads  towards  the  door ;  many  stood 
upright,  and  turned  directly  about ;  while  several  lit 
tle  boys  clambered  upon  the  seats,  and  came  down 
again  with  a  terrible  racket.  There  was  a  general 
bustle,  a  rustling  of  the  women's  gowns  and  shuffling 
of  the  men's  feet,  greatly  at  variance  with  that  hushed 
repose  which  should  attend  the  entrance  of  the  minis 
ter.  But  Mr.  Hooper  appeared  not  to  notice  the  per 
turbation  of  his  people.  He  entered  with  an  almost 
noiseless  step,  bent  his  head  mildly  to  the  pews  on 
each  side,  and  bowed  as  he  passed  his  oldest  parish 
ioner,  a  white-haired  great-grandsire,  who  occupied  an 
arm-chair  in  the  centre  of  the  aisle.  It  was  strange 
to  observe  how  slowly  this  venerable  man  became 
conscious  of  something  singular  in  the  appearance  of 
his  pastor.  He  seemed  not  fully  to  partake  of  the 
prevailing  wonder,  till  Mr.  Hooper  had  ascended  the 
stairs,  and  showed  himself  in  the  pulpit,  face  to  face 
with  his  congregation,  except  for  the  black  veil.  That 
mysterious  emblem  was  never  once  withdrawn.  It 
shook  with  his  measured  breath,  as  he  gave  out  the 
psalm;  it  threw  its  obscurity  between  him  and  the 
holy  page,  as  he  read  the  Scriptures  ;  and  while  he 
prayed,  the  veil  lay  heavily  on  his  uplifted  counte 
nance.  Did  he  seek  to  hide  it  from  the  dread  Being 
whom  he  was  addressing  ? 

Such  was  the  effect  of  this  simple  piece  of  crape, 
that  more  than  one  woman  of  delicate  nerves  was 
forced  to  leave  the  meeting-house.  Yet  perhaps  the 
pale-faced  congregation  was  almost  as  fearful  a  sight 
to  the  minister,  as  his  black  veil  to  them. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK   VEIL.  55 

Mr.  Hooper  had  the  reputation  of  a  good  preacher, 
but  not  an  energetic  one :  he  strove  to  win  his  people 
heavenward  by  inild,  persuasive  influences,  rather  than 
to  drive  them  thither  by  the  thunders  of  the  Word. 
The  sermon  which  he  now  delivered  was  marked  by 
the  same  characteristics  of  style  and  manner  as  the 
general  series  of  his  pulpit  oratory.  But  there  was 
something,  either  in  the  sentiment  of  the  discourse  it 
self,  or  in  the  imagination  of  the  auditors,  which  made 
it  greatly  the  most  powerful  effort  that  they  had  ever 
heard  from  their  pastor's  lips.  It  was  tinged,  rather 
more  darkly  than  usual,  with  the  gentle  gloom  of  Mr. 
Hooper's  temperament.  The  subject  had  reference  to 
secret  sin,  and  those  sad  mysteries  which  we  hide  from 
our  nearest  and  dearest,  and  would  fain  conceal  from 
our  own  consciousness,  even  forgetting  that  the  Omnis 
cient  can  detect  them.  A  subtle  power  was  breathed 
into  his  words.  Each  member  of  the  congregation, 
the  most  innocent  girl,  and  the  man  of  hardened 
breast,  felt  as  if  the  preacher  had  crept  upon  them, 
behind  his  awful  veil,  and  discovered  their  hoarded  in 
iquity  of  deed  or  thought.  Many  spread  their  clasped 
hands  on  their  bosoms.  There  was  nothing  terrible 
in  what  Mr.  Hooper  said,  at  least,  no  violence  :  and 
yet,  with  every  tremor  of  his  melancholy  voice,  the 
hearers  quaked.  An  unsought  pathos  came  hand  in 
hand  with  awe.  So  sensible  were  the  audience  of 
some  unwonted  attribute  in  their  minister,  that  they 
longed  for  a  breath  of  wind  to  blow  aside  the  veil,  al 
most  believing  that  a  stranger's  visage  would  be  dis 
covered,  though  the  form,  gesture,  and  voice  were  those 
of  Mr.  Hooper. 

At  the  close  of  the  services,  the  people  hurried  out 
with  indecorous  confusion,  eager  to  communicate  their 


56  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pent-up  amazement,  and  conscious  of  lighter  spirits 
the  moment  they  lost  sight  of  the  black  veil.  Some 
gathered  in  little  circles,  huddled  closely  together,  with 
their  mouths  all  whispering  in  the  centre  ;  some  went 
homeward  alone,  wrapt  in  silent  meditation;  some 
talked  loudly,  and  profaned  the  Sabbath  day  with  os 
tentatious  laughter.  A  few  shook  their  sagacious 
heads,  intimating  that  they  could  penetrate  the  mys 
tery  ;  while  one  or  two  affirmed  that  there  was  no 
mystery  at  all,  but  only  that  Mr.  Hooper's  eyes  were 
so  weakened  by  the  midnight  lamp,  as  to  require  a 
shade.  After  a  brief  interval,  forth  came  good  Mr. 
Hooper  also,  in  the  rear  of  his  flock.  Turning  his 
veiled  face  from  one  group  to  another,  he  paid  due 
reverence  to  the  hoary  heads,  saluted  the  middle  aged 
with  kind  dignity  as  their  friend  and  spiritual  guide, 
greeted  the  young  with  mingled  authority  and  love, 
and  laid  his  hands  on  the  little  children's  heads  to 
bless  them.  Such  was  always  his  custom  on  the  Sab 
bath  day.  Strange  and  bewildered  looks  repaid  him 
for  his  courtesy.  None,  as  on  former  occasions,  as 
pired  to  the  honor  of  walking  by  their  pastor's  side. 
Old  Squire  Saunders,  doubtless  by  an  accidental  lapse 
of  memory,  neglected  to  invite  Mr.  Hooper  to  his  ta 
ble,  where  the  good  clergyman  had  been  wont  to  bless 
the  food,  almost  every  Sunday  sin<5e  his  settlement. 
He  returned,  therefore,  to  the  parsonage,  and,  at  the 
moment  of  closing  the  door,  was  observed  to  look  back 
upon  the  people,  all  of  whom  had  their  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  minister.  A  sad  smile  gleamed  faintly  from  be 
neath  the  black  veil,  and  flickered  about  his  mouth, 
glimmering  as  he  disappeared. 

"  How  strange,"  said  a  lady,  "  that  a  simple  black 
veil,  such  as  any  woman  might  wear  on  her  bonnet, 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK   VEIL.  57 

should  become  such  a  terrible  thing  on  Mr.  Hooper's 
face!" 

"  Something  must  surely  be  amiss  with  Mr.  Hoop 
er's  intellects,"  observed  her  husband,  the  physician 
of  the  village.  "  But  the  strangest  part  of  the  affair 
is  the  effect  of  this  vagary,  even  on  a  sober-minded 
man  like  myself.  The  black  veil,  though  it  covers 
only  our  pastor's  face,  throws  its  yifluence  over  his 
whole  person,  and  makes  him  ghostlike  from  head  to 
foot.  Do  you  not  feel  it  so  ?  " 

"  Truly  do  I,"  replied  the  lady  ;  "  and  I  would  not 
be  alone  with  him  for  the  world.  I  wonder  he  is  not 
afraid  to  be  alone  with  himself !  " 

"  Men  sometimes  are  so,"  said  her  husband. 

The  afternoon  service  was  attended  with  similar  cir 
cumstances.  At  its  conclusion,  the  bell  tolled  for  the 
funeral  of  a  young  lady.  The  relatives  and  friends 
were  assembled  in  the  house,  and  the  more  distant  ac 
quaintances  stood  about  the  door,  speaking  of  the  good 
qualities  of  the  deceased,  when  their  talk  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  still  covered 
with  his  black  veil.  It  was  now  an  appropriate  em 
blem.  The  clergyman  stepped  into  the  room  where 
the  corpse  was  laid,  and  bent  over  the  coffin,  to  take 
a  last  farewell  of  his  deceased  parishioner.  As  he 
stooped,  the  veil  hung  straight  down  from  his  fore 
head,  so  that,  if  her  eyelids  had  not  been  closed  for 
ever,  the  dead  maiden  might  have  seen  his  face.  Could 
Mr.  Hooper  be  fearful  of  her  glance,  that  he  so  hastily 
caught  back  the  black  veil 9  A  person  who  watched 
the  interview  between  the  dead  and  living,  scrupled 
not  to  affirm,  that,  at  the  instant  when  the  clergy 
man's  features  were  disclosed,  the  corpse  had  slightly 
shuddered,  rustling  the  shroud  and  muslin  cap,  though 


58  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  countenance  retained  the  composure  of  death.  A 
superstitious  old  woman  was  the  only  witness  of  this 
prodigy.  From  the  coffin  Mr.  Hooper  passed  into  the 
chamber  of  the  mourners,  and  thence  to  the  head  of 
the  staircase,  to  make  the  funeral  prayer.  It  was  a 
tender  and  heart-dissolving  prayer,  full  of  sorrow,  yet 
so  imbued  with  celestial  hopes,  that  the  music  of  a 
heavenly  harp,  swept  by  the  fingers  of  the  dead,  seemed 
faintly  to  be  heard  among  the  saddest  accents  of  the 
minister.  The  people  trembled,  though  they  but 
darkly  understood  him  when  he  prayed  that  they,  and 
himself,  and  all  of  mortal  race,  might  be  ready,  as  he 
trusted  this  young  maiden  had  been,  for  the  dreadful 
hour  that  should  snatch  the  veil  from  their  faces.  The 
bearers  went  heavily  forth,  and  the  mourners  followed, 
saddening  all  the  street,  with  the  dead  before  them, 
and  Mr.  Hooper  in  his  black  veil  behind. 

"  Why  do  you  look  back?  "  said  one  in  the  proces 
sion  to  his  partner. 

"I  had  a  fancy,"  replied  she,  "that  the  minister 
and  the  maiden's  spirit  were  walking  hand  in  hand." 

"  And  so  had  I,  at  the  same  moment,"  said  the 
other. 

That  night,  the  handsomest  couple  in  Milford  vil 
lage  were  to  be  joined  in  wedlock.  Though  reckoned 
a  melancholy  man,  Mr.  Hooper  had  a  placid  cheerful 
ness  for  such  occasions,  which  often  excited  a  sympa 
thetic  smile  where  livelier  merriment  would  have  been 
thrown  away.  There  was  no  quality  of  his  disposition 
which  made  him  more  beloved  than  this.  The  company 
at  the  wedding  awaited  his  arrival  with  impatience, 
trusting  that  the  strange  awe,  which  had  gathered  over 
him  throughout  the  day,  would  now  be  dispelled.  But 
such  was  not  the  result.  When  Mr.  Hooper  carne,  the 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK   VEIL.  59 

first  thing  that  their  eyes  rested  on  was  the  same  hor 
rible  black  veil,  which  had  added  deeper  gloom  to  the 
funeral,  and  could  portend  nothing  but  evil  to  the 
wedding.  Such  was  its  immediate  effect  on  the  guests 
that  a  cloud  seemed  to  have  rolled  duskily  from  be 
neath  the  black  crape,  and  dimmed  the  light  of  the 
candles.  The  bridal  pair  stood  up  before  the  minister. 
But  the  bride's  cold  fingers  quivered  in  the  tremulous 
hand  of  the  bridegroom,  and  her  deathlike  paleness 
caused  a  whisper  that  the  maiden  who  had  been  buried 
a  few  hours  before  was  come  from  her  grave  to  be 
married.  If  ever  another  wedding  were  so  dismal,  it 
was  that  famous  one  where  they  tolled  the  wedding 
knell.  After  performing  the  ceremony,  Mr.  Hooper 
raised  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  wishing  happiness  to 
the  new-married  couple  in  a  strain  of  mild  pleasantry 
that  ought  to  have  brightened  the  features  of  the 
guests,  like  a  cheerful  gleam  from  the  hearth.  At 
that  instant,  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  figure  in  the 
looking-glass,  the  black  veil  involved  his  own  spirit  in 
the  horror  with  which  it  overwhelmed  all  others.  His 
frame  shuddered,  his  lips  grew  white,  he  spilt  the  un- 
tasted  wine  upon  the  carpet,  and  rushed  forth  into 
the  darkness.  For  the  Earth,  too,  had  on  her  Black 
Veil. 

The  next  day,  the  whole  village  of  Milford  talked 
of  little  else  than  Parson  Hooper's  black  veil.  That, 
and  the  mystery  concealed  behind  it,  supplied  a  topic 
for  discussion  between  acquaintances  meeting  in  the 
street,  and  good  women  gossiping  at  their  open  win 
dows.  It  was  the  first  item  of  news  that  the  tavern- 
keeper  told  to  his  guests.  The  children  babbled  of  it 
on  their  way  to  school.  One  imitative  little  imp  cov 
ered  his  face  with  an  old  black  handkerchief,  thereby 


60  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

so  affrighting  his  playmates  that  the  panic  seized  him 
self,  and  he  well-nigh  lost  his  wits  by  his  own  waggery. 
It  was  remarkable  that  of  all  the  busybodies  and 
impertinent  people  in  the  parish,  not  one  ventured  to 
put  the  plain  question  to  Mr.  Hooper,  wherefore  he 
did  this  thing.  Hitherto,  whenever  there  appeared 
the  slightest  call  for  such  interference,  he  had  never 
lacked  advisers,  nor  shown  himself  averse  to  be  guided 
by  their  judgment.  If  he  erred  at  all,  it  was  by  so 
painful  a  degree  of  self-distrust,  that  even  the  mildest 
censure  would  lead  him  to  consider  an  indifferent  ac 
tion  as  a  crime.  Yet,  though  so  well  acquainted  with 
this  amiable  weakness,  no  individual  among  his  pa 
rishioners  chose  to  make  the  black  veil  a  subject  of 
friendly  remonstrance.  There  was  a  feeling  of  dread, 
neither  plainly  confessed  nor  carefully  concealed,  which 
caused  each  to  shift  the  responsibility  upon  another, 
till  at  length  it  was  found  expedient  to  send  a  deputa 
tion  of  the  church,  in  order  to  deal  with  Mr.  Hooper 
about  the  mystery,  before  it  should  grow  into  a  scan 
dal.  Never  did  an  embassy  so  ill  discharge  its  duties. 
The  minister  received  them  with  friendly  courtesy,  but 
became  silent,  after  they  were  seated,  leaving  to  his  vis 
itors  the  whole  burden  of  introducing  their  important 
business.  The  topic,  it  might  be  supposed,  was  obvi 
ous  enough.  There  was  the  black  veil  swathed  round 
Mr.  Hooper's  forehead,  and  concealing  every  feature 
above  his  placid  mouth,  on  which,  at  times,  they  could 
perceive  the  glimmering  of  a  melancholy  smile.  But 
that  piece  of  crape,  to  their  imagination,  seemed  to 
hang  down  before  his  heart,  the  symbol  of  a  fearful 
secret  between  him  and  them.  Were  the  veil  but  cast 
aside,  they  might  speak  freely  of  it,  but  not  till  then, 
Thus  they  sat  a  considerable  time,  speechless,  confused, 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK    VEIL.  01 

and  shrinking  uneasily  from  Mr.  Hooper's  eye,  which 
they  felt  to  be  fixed  upon  them  with  an  invisible 
glance.  Finally,  the  deputies  returned  abashed  to 
their  constituents,  pronouncing  the  matter  too  weighty 
to  be  handled,  except  by  a  council  of  the  churches,  if, 
indeed,  it  might  not  require  a  general  synod. 

But  there  was  one  person  in  the  village  unappalled 
by  the  awe  with  which  the  black  veil  had  impressed 
all  beside  herself.  When  the  deputies  returned  with 
out  an  explanation,  or  even  venturing  to  demand  one, 
she,  with  the  calm  energy  of  her  character,  determined 
to  chase  away  the  strange  cloud  that  appeared  to  be 
settling  round  Mr.  Hooper,  every  moment  more  darkly 
than  before.  As  his  plighted  wife,  it  should  be  her 
privilege  to  know  what  the  black  veil  concealed.  At 
the  minister's  first  visit,  therefore,  she  entered  upon 
the  subject  with  a  direct  simplicity,  which  made  the 
task  easier  both  for  him  and  her.  After  he  had  seated 
himself,  she  fixed  her  eyes  steadfastly  upon  the  veil, 
but  could  discern  nothing  of  the  dreadful  gloom  that 
had  so  overawed  the  multitude :  it  was  but  a  double 
fold  of  crape,  hanging  down  from  his  forehead  to  his 
mouth,  and  slightly  stirring  with  his  breath. 

"  No,"  said  she  aloud,  and  smiling,  "  there  is  noth 
ing  terrible  in  this  piece  of  crape,  except  that  it  hides 
a  face  which  I  am  always  glad  to  look  upon.  Come, 
good  sir,  let  the  sun  shine  from  behind  the  cloud. 
First  lay  aside  your  black  veil :  then  tell  me  why  you 
put  it  on." 

Mr.  Hooper's  smile  glimmered  faintly. 

"  There  is  an  hour  to  come,"  said  he,  t;  when  all  of 
as  shall  cast  aside  our  veils.  Take  it  not  amiss,  be 
loved  friend,  if  I  wear  this  piece  of  crape  till  then.'' 

"  Your  words   are   a   mystery,  too,"  returned   the 


62  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

young  lady.  "Take  away  the  veil  from  them,  at 
least." 

"  Elizabeth,  I  will,"  said  he,  "  so  far  as  my  vow  may 
suffer  me.  Know,  then,  this  veil  is  a  type  and  a  sym 
bol,  and  I  am  bound  to  wear  it  ever,  both  in  light  and 
darkness,  in  solitude  and  before  the  gaze  of  multitudes, 
and  as  with  strangers,  so  with  my  familiar  friends. 
No  mortal  eye  will  see  it  withdrawn.  This  dismal 
shade  must  separate  me  from  the  world :  even  you, 
Elizabeth,  can  never  come  behind  it !  " 

"  What  grievous  affliction  hath  befallen  you,"  she 
earnestly  inquired,  "  that  you  should  thus  darken  your 
eyes  forever  ?  " 

"  If  it  be  a  sign  of  mourning,"  replied  Mr.  Hooper, 
"  I,  perhaps,  like  most  other  mortals,  have  sorrows 
dark  enough  to  be  typified  by  a  black  veil." 

"  But  what  if  the  world  will  not  believe  that  it  is 
the  type  of  an  innocent  sorrow?"  urged  Elizabeth. 
"  Beloved  and  respected  as  you  are,  there  may  be 
whispers  that  you  hide  your  face  under  the  conscious 
ness  of  secret  sin.  For  the  sake  of  your  holy  office, 
do  away  this  scandal !  " 

The  color  rose  into  her  cheeks  as  she  intimated  the 
nature  of  the  rumors  that  were  already  abroad  in  the 
village.  But  Mr.  Hooper's  mildness  did  not  forsake 
him.  He  even  smiled  again  —  that  same  sad  smile, 
which  always  appeared  like  a  faint  glimmering  of 
light,  proceeding  from  the  obscurity  beneath  the  veil. 

"If  I  hide  my  face  for  sorrow,  there  is  cause 
enough,"  he  merely  replied ;  "  and  if  I  cover  it  for 
secret  sin,  what  mortal  might  not  do  the  same  ?  " 

And  with  this  gentle,  but  unconquerable  obstinacy 
did  he  resist  all  her  entreaties.  At  length  Elizabeth 
sat  silent.  For  a  few  moments  she  appeared  lost 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK    VEIL.  63 

in  thought,  considering,  probably,  what  new  methods 
might  be  tried  to  withdraw  her  lover  from  so  dark  a 
fantasy,  which,  if  it  had  no  other  meaning,  was  per 
haps  a  symptom  of  mental  disease.  Though  of  a 
firmer  character  than  his  own,  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks.  But,  in  an  instant,  as  it  were,  a  new  feel 
ing  took  the  place  of  sorrow :  her  eyes  were  fixed  in 
sensibly  on  the  black  veil,  when,  like  a  sudden  twilight 
in  the  air,  its  terrors  fell  around  her.  She  arose,  and 
stood  trembling  before  him. 

"  And  do  you  feel  it  then,  at  last  ?  "  said  he  mourn 
fully. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  rushed  for 
ward  and  caught  her  arm. 

"Have  patience  with  me,  Elizabeth!"  cried  he, 
passionately.  "Do  not  desert  me,  though  this  veil 
must  be  between  us  here  on  earth.  Be  mine,  and 
hereafter  there  shall  be  no  veil  over  my  face,  no  dark 
ness  between  our  souls  !  It  is  but  a  mortal  veil — it 
is  not  for  eternity '  O !  you  know  not  how  lonely  I 
am,  and  how  frightened,  to  be  alone  behind  my  black 
veil.  Do  not  leave  me  in  this  miserable  obscurity  for 
ever!  " 

"  Lift  the  veil  but  once,  and  look  me  in  the  face," 
said  she. 

"Never!     It  cannot  be!"  replied  Mr.  Hooper. 

"  Then  farewell !"  said  Elizabeth. 

She  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  grasp,  and  slowly 
departed,  pausing  at  the  door,  to  give  "one  long  shud 
dering  gaze,  that  seemed  almost  to  penetrate  the  mys 
tery  of  the  black  veil.  But,  even  amid  his  grief,  Mr. 
Hooper  smiled  to  think  that  only  a  material  emblem 
bad  separated  him  from  happiness,  though  the  hor- 


64  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

rors,  which  it  shadowed  forth,  must  be  drawn  darkly 
between  the  fondest  of  lovers. 

From  that  time  no  attempts  were  made  to  remove 
Mr.  Hooper's  black  veil,  or,  by  a  direct  appeal,  to  dis 
cover  the  secret  which  it  was  supposed  to  hide.  By 
persons  who  claimed  a  superiority  to  popular  preju 
dice,  it  was  reckoned  merely  an  eccentric  whim,  such 
as  often  mingles  with  the  sober  actions  of  men  other 
wise  rational,  and  tinges  them  all  with  its  own  sem 
blance  of  insanity.  But  with  the  multitude,  good  Mr. 
Hooper  was  irreparably  a  bugbear.  He  could  not 
walk  the  street  with  any  peace  of  mind,  so  conscious 
was  he  that  the  gentle  and  timid  would  turn  aside  to 
avoid  him,  and  that  others  would  make  it  a  point  of 
hardihood  to  throw  themselves  in  his  way.  The  im 
pertinence  of  the  latter  class  compelled  him  to  give 
up  his  customary  walk  at  sunset  to  the  burial  ground ; 
for  when  he  leaned  pensively  over  the  gate,  there 
would  always  be  faces  behind  the  gravestones,  peep 
ing  at  his  black  veil.  A  fable  went  the  rounds  that 
the  stare  of  the  dead  people  drove  him  thence.  It 
grieved  him,  to  the  very  depth  of  his  kind  heart,  to 
observe  how  the  children  fled  from  his  approach, 
breaking  up  their  merriest  sports,  while  his  melan 
choly  figure  was  yet  afar  off.  Their  instinctive  dread 
caused  him  to  feel  more  strongly  than  aught  else,  that 
a  preternatural  horror  was  interwoven  with  the  threads 
of  the  black  crape.  In  truth,  his  own  antipathy  to 
the  veil  was  known  to  be  so  great,  that  he  never  will 
ingly  passed  before  a  mirror,  nor  stooped  to  drink  at 
a  still  fountain,  lest,  in  its  peaceful  bosom,  he  should 
be  affrighted  by  himself.  This  was  what  gave  plausi 
bility  to  the  whispers,  that  Mr.  Hooper's  conscience 
tortured  him  for  some  great  crime  too  horrible  to  be 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK   VEIL.  65 

entirely  concealed,  or  otherwise  than  so  obscurely  in 
timated.  Thus,  from  beneath  the  black  veil,  there 
rolled  a  cloud  into  the  sunshine,  an  ambiguity  of  sin 
or  sorrow,  which  enveloped  the  poor  minister,  so  that 
love  or  sympathy  could  never  reach  him.  It  was  said 
that  ghost  and  fiend  consorted  with  him  there.  With 
self-shtidderings  and  outward  terrors,  he  walked  con 
tinually  in  its  shadow,  groping  darkly  within  his  own 
soul,  or  gazing  through  a  medium  that  saddened  the 
whole  world.  Even  the  lawless  wind,  it  was  believed, 
respected  his  dreadful  secret,  and  never  blew  aside  the 
veil.  But  still  good  Mr.  Hooper  sadly  smiled  at  the 
pale  visages  of  the  worldly  throng  as  he  passed  by. 

Among  all  its  bad  influences,  the  black  veil  had  the 
one  desirable  effect,  of  making  its  wearer  a  very  effi 
cient  clergyman.  By  the  aid  of  his  mysterious  emblem 
—  for  there  was  no  other  apparent  cause  —  he  became 
a  man  of  awful  power  over  souls  that  were  in  agony 
for  sin.  His  converts  always  regarded  him  with  a 
dread  peculiar  to  themselves,  affirming,  though  but 
figuratively,  that,  before  he  brought  them  to  celestial 
light,  they  had  been  with  him  behind  the  black  veil. 
Its  gloom,  indeed,  enabled  him  to  sympathize  with  all 
dark  affections.  Dying  sinners  cried  aloud  for  Mr. 
Hooper,  and  would  not  yield  their  breath  till  he  ap 
peared  ;  though  ever,  as  he  stooped  to  whisper  conso 
lation,  they  shuddered  at  the  veiled  face  so  near  their 
own.  Such  were  the  terrors  of  the  black  veil,  even 
when  Death  had  bared  his  visage !  Strangers  came 
long  distances  to  attend  service  at  his  church,  with  the 
mere  idle  purpose  of  gazing  at  his  figure,  because  it 
was  forbidden  them  to  behold  his  face.  But  many 
were  made  to  quake  ere  they  departed !  Once,  during 
Governor  Belcher's  administration.  Mr.  Hooper  was 


66  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

appointed  to  preach  the  election  sermon.  Covered 
with  his  black  veil,  he  stood  before  the  chief  magis 
trate,  the  council,  and  the  representatives,  and  wrought 
so  deep  an  impression,  that  the  legislative  measures 
of  that  year  were  characterized  by  all  the  gloom  and 
piety  of  our  earliest  ancestral  sway. 

In  this  manner  Mr.  Hooper  spent  a  long  life,  irre 
proachable  in  outward  act,  yet  shrouded  in  dismal  sus 
picions  ;  kind  and  loving,  though  unloved,  and  dimly 
feared;  a  man  apart  from  men,  shunned  in  their 
health  and  joy,  but  ever  summoned  to  their  aid  in 
mortal  anguish.  As  years  wore  on,  shedding  their 
snows  above  his  sable  veil,  he  acquired  a  name 
throughout  the  New  England  churches,  and  they  called 
him  Father  Hooper.  Nearly  all  his  parishioners,  who 
were  of  mature  age  when  he  was  settled,  had  been 
borne  away  by  many  a  funeral :  he  had  one  congrega 
tion  in  the  church,  and  a  more  crowded  one  in  the 
churchyard;  and  having  wrought  so  late  into  the 
evening,  and  done  his  work  so  well,  it  was  now  good 
Father  Hooper's  turn  to  rest. 

Several  persons  were  visible  by  the  shaded  candle 
light,  in  the  death  chamber  of  the  old  clergyman. 
Natural  connections  he  had  none.  But  there  was  the 
decorously  grave,  though  unmoved  physician,  seeking 
only  to  mitigate  the  last  pangs  of  the  patient  whom 
he  could  not  save.  There  were  the  deacons,  and  other 
eminently  pious  members  of  his  church.  There,  also, 
was  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark,  of  Westbury,  a  young 
and  zealous  divine,  who  had  ridden  in  haste  to  pray 
by  the  bedside  of  the  expiring  minister.  There  was 
the  nurse,  no  hired  handmaiden  of  death,  but  one 
whose  calm  affection  had  endured  thus  long  in  secrecy, 
in  solitude,  amid  the  chill  of  age,  and  would  not  per. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK   VEIL.  67 

ish,  even  at  the  dying  hour.  AVho,  but  Elizabeth! 
And  there  lay  the  hoary  head  of  good  Father  Hooper 
upon  the  death  pillow,  with  the  black  veil  still  swathed 
about  iris  brow,  and  reaching  down  over  his  face,  so 
that  each  more  difficult  gasp  of  his  faint  breath  caused 
it  to  stir.  All  through  life  that  piece  o£  crape  had 
hung  between  him  and  the  world:  it  had  separated 
him  from  cheerful  brotherhood  and  woman's  love,  and 
kept  him  in  that  saddest  of  all  prisons,  his  own  heart ; 
and  still  it  lay  upon  his  face,  as  if  to  deepen  the 
gloom  of  his  darksome  chamber,  and  shade  him  from 
the  sunshine  of  eternity. 

For  some  time  previous,  his  mind  had  been  con 
fused,  wavering  doubtfully  between  the  past  and  th« 
present,  and  hovering  forward,  as  it  were,  at  intervals, 
into  the  indistinctness  of  the  world  to  come.  There 
had  been  feverish  turns,  which  tossed  him  from  side 
to  side,  and  wore  away  what  little  strength  he  had. 
But  in  his  most  convulsive  struggles,  and  in  the  wild 
est  vagaries  of  his  intellect,  when  no  other  thought 
retained  its  sober  influence,  he  still  showed  an  awful 
solicitude  lest  the  black  veil  should  slip  aside.  Even 
if  his  bewildered  soul  could  have  forgotten,  there  was 
a  faithful  woman  at  his  pillow,  wiio,  with  averted  eyes, 
would  have  covered  that  aged  face,  which  she  had  last 
beheld  in  the  comeliness  of  manhood.  At  length  the 
death-stricken  old  man  lay  quietly  in  the  torpor  of 
mental  and  bodily  exhaustion,  with  an  imperceptible 
pulse,  and  breath  that  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  except 
when  a  long,  deep,  and  irregular  inspiration  seemed 
to  prelude  the  flight  of  his  spirit 

The  minister  of  Westbury  approached  the  bedside. 

"  Venerable  Father  Hooper,"  said  he,  "  the  moment 
of  your  release  is  at  hand.  Are  you  ready  for  the  lift 
ing  of  the  veil  that  shuts  in  time  from  eternity  ?  " 


68  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Father  Hooper  at  first  replied  merely  by  a  feeble 
motion  of  his  head ;  then,  apprehensive,  perhaps,  that 
his  meaning  might  be  doubtful,  he  exerted  himself  to 
speak. 

"  Yea,"  said  he,  in  faint  accents,  "  my  soul  hath  a 
patient  weariness  until  that  veil  be  lifted." 

"And  is  it  fitting,"  resumed  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Clark,  "that  a  man  so  given  to  prayer,  of  such  a 
blameless  example,  holy  in  deed  and  thought,  so  far 
as  mortal  judgment  may  pronounce ;  is  it  fitting  that 
a  father  in  the  church  should  leave  a  shadow  on  his 
memory,  that  may  seem  to  blacken  a  life  so  pure  ?  I 
pray  you,  my  venerable  brother,  let  not  this  thing  be ! 
Suffer  us  to  be  gladdened  by  your  triumphant  aspect 
as  you  go  to  your  reward.  Before  the  veil  of  eternity 
be  lifted,  let  me  cast  aside  this  black  veil  from  your 
face !  " 

And  thus  speaking,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark  bent 
forward  to  reveal  the  mystery  of  so  many  years.  But, 
exerting  a  sudden  energy,  that  made  all  the  beholders 
stand  aghast,  Father  Hooper  snatched  both  his  hands 
from  beneath  the  bedclothes,  and  pressed  them  strongly 
on  the  black  veil,  resolute  to  struggle,  if  the  minister 
of  Westbury  would  contend  with  a  dying  man. 

"  Never !  "  cried  the  veiled  clergyman.  "  On  earth, 
never!" 

"  Dark  old  man  ! "  exclaimed  the  affrighted  minister, 
"  with  what  horrible  crime  upon  your  soul  are  you 
now  passing  to  the  judgment  ?  " 

Father  Hooper's  breath  heaved ;  it  rattled  in  his 
throat;  but,  with  a  mighty  effort,  grasping  forward 
with  his  hands,  he  caught  hold  of  life,  and  held  it  back 
till  he  should  speak.  He  even  raised  himself  in  b,ed ; 
and  there  he  sat,  shivering  with  the  arms  of  death 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK    VEIL.  69 

around  him,  while  the  black  veil  hung  down,  awf id,  at 
that  last  moment,  in  the  gathered  terrors  of  a  lifetime. 
And  yet  the  faint,  sad  smile,  so  often  there,  now 
seemed  to  glimmer  from  its  obscurity,  and  linger  on 
Father  Hooper's  lips. 

ki  Why  do  you  tremble  at  me  alone  ? "  cried  he, 
turning  his  veiled  face  round  the  circle  of  pale  spec 
tators.  " Tremble  also  at  each  other!  Have  men 
avoided  me,  and  women  shown  no  pity,  and  children 
screamed  and  fled,  only  for  my  black  veil?  What, 
but  the  mystery  which  it  obscurely  typifies,  has  made 
this  piece  of  crape  so  awful  ?  When  the  friend  shows 
his  inmost  heart  to  his  friend ;  the  lover  to  his  best 
beloved;  wrheii  man  does  not  vainly  shrink  from  the 
eye  of  his  Creator,  loathsomely  treasuring  up  the  se 
cret  of  his  sin  ;  then  deem  me  a  monster,  for  the  sym 
bol  beneath  which  I  have  lived,  and  die!  I  look 
around  me,  and,  lo !  on  every  visage  a  Black  Veil ! 

While  his  auditors  shrank  from  one  another,  in 
mutual  affright,  Father  Hooper  fell  back  upon  his  pil 
low,  a  veiled  corpse,  with  a  faint  smile  lingering  on 
the  lips.  Still  veiled,  they  laid  him  in  his  coffin,  and 
a  veiled  corpse  they  bore  him  to  the  grave.  The  grass 
of  many  years  has  sprung  up  and  withered  on  that 
grave,  the  burial  stone  is  moss-grown,  and  good  Mr. 
Hooper's  face  is  dust;  but  awful  is  still  the  thought 
that  it  mouldered  beneath  the  Black  Veil  I 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT. 

There  is  an  admirable  foundation  for  a  philosophic  romance  in  the 
curious  history  of  the  early  settlement  of  Mount  Wollaston,  or  Merry 
Mount.  In  the  slight  sketch  here  attempted,  the  facts,  recorded  on 
the  grave  pages  of  our  New  England  annalists,  have  wrought  them 
selves,  almost  spontaneously,  into  a  sort  of  allegory.  The  masques, 
mummeries,  and  festive  customs,  described  in  the  text,  are  in  accord 
ance  with  the  manners  of  the  age.  Authority  on  these  points  may 
be  found  in  Strutt's  Book  of  English  Sports  and  Pastimes. 

BRIGHT  were  the  days  at  Merry  Mount,  when  the 
Maypole  was  the  banner  staff  of  that  gay  colony! 
They  who  reared  it,  should  their  banner  be  triumph 
ant,  were  to  pour  sunshine  over  New  England's  rugged 
hills,  and  scatter  flower  seeds  throughout  the  soil. 
Jollity  and  gloom  were  contending  for  an  empire. 
Midsummer  eve  had  come,  bringing  deep  verdure  to 
the  forest,  and  roses  in  her  lap,  of  a  more  vivid  hue 
than  the  tender  buds  of  Spring.  But  May,  or  her 
mirthful  spirit,  dwelt  all  the  year  round  at  Merry 
Mount,  sporting  with  the  Summer  months,  and  revel 
ling  with  Autumn,  and  basking  in  the  glow  of  Win 
ter's  fireside.  Through  a  world  of  toil  and  care  she 
flitted  with  a  dreamlike  smile,  and  came  hither  to  find 
a  home  among  the  lightsome  hearts  of  Merry  Mount. 

Never  had  the  Maypole  been  so  gayly  decked  as  at 
sunset  on  midsummer  eve.  This  venerated  emblem 
was  a  pine-tree,  which  had  preserved  the  slender  grace 
of  youth,  while  it  equalled  the  loftiest  height  of  the 
old  wood  monarchs.  From  its  top  streamed  a  silken 
banner,  colored  like  the  rainbow.  Down  nearly  to  the 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.    71 

ground  the  pole  was  dressed  with  birchen  boughs,  and 
others  of  the  liveliest  green,  and  some  with  silvery 
leaves,  fastened  by  ribbons  that  fluttered  in  fantastic 
knots  of  twenty  different  colors,  but  no  sad  ones.  Gar 
den  flowers,  and  blossoms  of  the  wilderness,  laughed 
gladly  forth  amid  the  verdure,  so  fresh  and  dewy  that 
they  must  have  grown  by  magic  on  that  happy  pine- 
tree.  "Where  this  green  and  flowery  splendor  ternii 
nated,  the  shaft  of  the  Maypole  was  stained  with  the 
seven  brilliant  hues  of  the  banner  at  its  top.  On  the 
lowest  green  bough  hung  an  abundant  wreath  of  roses, 
some  that  had  been  gathered  in  the  sunniest  spots  of 
the  forest,  and  others,  of  still  richer  blush,  which  the 
colonists  had  reared  from  English  seed.  O,  people  of 
the  Golden  Age,  the  chief  of  your  husbandry  was  to 
raise  flowers ! 

But  what  was  the  wild  throng  that  stood  hand  in 
hand  about  the  Maypole?  It  could  not  be  that  the 
fauns  and  nymphs,  when  driven  from  their  classic 
groves  and  homes  of  ancient  fable,  had  sought  refuge, 
as  all  the  persecuted  did,  in  the  fresh  woods  of  the 
West.  These  were  Gothic  monsters,  though  perhaps 
of  Grecian  ancestry.  On  the  shoulders  of  a  comely 
youth  uprose  the  head  and  branching  antlers  of  a 
stag;  a  second,  human  in  all  other  points,  had  the 
grim  visage  of  a  wolf  ;  a  third,  still  with  the  trunk 
and  limbs  of  a  mortal  man,  showed  the  beard  and 
horns  of  a  venerable  he-goat.  There  was  the  likeness 
of  a  bear  erect,  brute  in  all  but  his  hind  legs,  which 
were  adorned  with  pink  silk  stockings.  And  here 
again,  almost  as  wondrous,  stood  a  real  bear  of  the 
dark  forest,  lending  each  of  his  fore  paws  to  the  grasp 
of  a  human  hand,  and  as  ready  for  the  dance  as  any 
in  that  circle.  His  inferior  nature  rose  half  way,  to 


72  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

meet  his  companions  as  they  stooped.  Other  faces 
wore  the  similitude  of  man  or  woman,  but  distorted 
or  extravagant,  with  red  noses  pendulous  before  their 
mouths,  which  seemed  of  awful  depth,  and  stretched 
from  ear  to  ear  in  an  eternal  fit  of  laughter.  Here 
might  be  seen  the  Salvage  Man,  well  known  in  her 
aldry,  hairy  as  a  baboon,  and  girdled  with  green  leaves,, 
By  his  side,  a  noble  figure,  but  still  a  counterfeit,  ap 
peared  an  Indian  hunter,  with  feathery  crest  and  wam 
pum  belt.  Many  of  this  strange  company  wore  fools 
caps,  and  had  little  bells  appended  to  their  garments, 
tinkling  with  a  silvery  sound,  responsive  to  the  inaudi 
ble  music  of  their  gleesome  spirits.  Some  youths  and 
maidens  were  of  soberer  garb,  yet  well  maintained 
their  places  .in  the  irregular  throng  by  the  expression 
of  wild  revelry  upon  their  features.  Such  were  the 
colonists  of  Merry  Mount,  as  they  stood  in  the  broad 
smile  of  sunset  round  their  venerated  Maypole. 

Had  a  wanderer,  bewildered  in  the  melancholy  for 
est,  heard  their  mirth,  and  stolen  a  half-affrighted 
glance,  he  might  have  fancied  them  the  crew  of  Co- 
mus,  some  already  transformed  to  brutes,  some  mid 
way  between  man  and  beast,  and  the  others  rioting 
in  the  flow  of  tipsy  jollity  that  foreran  the  change. 
But  a  band  of  Puritans,  who  watched  the  scene,  invis 
ible  themselves,  compared  the  masques  to  those  devils 
and  ruined  souls  with  whom  their  superstition  peopled 
the  black  wilderness. 

Within  the  ring  of  monsters  appeared  the  two  air 
iest  forms  that  had  ever  trodden  on  any  more  solid 
footing  than  a  purple  and  golden  cloud.  One  was  a 
youth  in  glistening  apparel,  with  a  scarf  of  the  rajn- 
bow  pattern  crosswise  on  his  breast.  His  right  hand 
held  a  gilded  staff,  the  ensign  of  high  dignity  among 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.    73 

the  revellers,  and  his  left  grasped  the  slender  fingers 
of  a  fair  maiden,  not  less  gayly  decorated  than  him 
self.  Bright  roses  glowed  in  contrast  with  the  dark 
and  glossy  curls  of  each,  and  were  scattered  round 
their  feet,  or  had  sprung  up  spontaneously  there.  Be 
hind  this  lightsome  couple,  so  close  to  the  Maypole 
that  its  boughs  shaded  his  jovial  face,  stood  the  figure 
of  an  English  priest,  canonically  dressed,  yet  decked 
with  flowers,  in  heathen  fashion,  and  wearing  a  chap- 
let  of  the  native  vine  leaves.  By  the  riot  of  his  roll 
ing  eye,  and  the  pagan  decorations  of  his  holy  garb, 
he  seemed  the  wildest  monster  there,  and  the  very 
Comus  of  the  crew. 

"  Votaries  of  the  Maypole."  cried  the  flower-decked 
priest,  "  merrily,  all  day  long,  have  the  woods  echoed 
to  your  mirth.  But  be  this  your  merriest  hour,  my 
hearts !  Lo,  here  stand  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May,  whom  I,  a  clerk  of  Oxford,  and  high  priest  of 
Merry  Mount,  am  presently  to  join  in  holy  matrimony. 
Up  with  your  nimble  spirits,  ye  morris-dancers,  green 
men,  and  glee  maidens,  bears  and  wolves,  and  horned 
gentlemen !  Come ;  a  chorus  now,  rich  with  the  old 
mirth  of  Merry  England,  and  the  wilder  glee  of  this 
fresh  forest ;  and  then  a  dance,  to  show  the  youthful 
pair  what  life  is  made  of,  and  how  airily  they  should 
go  through  it!  All  ye  that  love  the  Maypole,  lend 
.your  voices  to  the  nuptial  song  of  the  Lord  and  Lady 
of  the  May!" 

This  wedlock  was  more  serious  than  most  affairs  of 
Merry  Mount,  where  jest  and  delusion,  trick  and  fan 
tasy,  kept  up  a  continual  carnival.  The  Lord  and 
Lady  of  the  May,  though  their  titles  must  be  laid 
down  at  sunset,  were  really  and  truly  to  be  partners 
for  the  dance  of  life,  beginning  the  measure  that  same 


74  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

bright  eve.  The  wreath  of  roses,  that  hung  from  the 
lowest  green  bough  of  the  Maypole,  had  been  twined 
for  them,  and  would  be  thrown  over  both  their  heads, 
in  symbol  of  their  flowery  union.  When  the  priest 
had  spoken,  therefore,  a  riotous  uproar  burst  from  the 
rout  of  monstrous  figures. 

"  Begin  you  the  stave,  reverend  Sir,"  cried  they  all ; 
"  and  never  did  the  woods  ring  to  such  a  merry  peal 
as  we  of  the  Maypole  shall  send  up! " 

Immediately  a  prelude  of  pipe,  cithern,  and  viol, 
touched  with  practised  minstrelsy,  began  to  play  from 
a  neighboring  thicket,  in  such  a  mirthful  cadence  that 
the  boughs  of  the  Maypole  quivered  to  the  sound. 
But  the  May  Lord,  he  of  the  gilded  staff,  chancing  to 
look  into  his  Lady's  eyes,  was  wonder  struck  at  the 
almost  pensive  glance  that  met  his  own. 

"Edith,  sweet  Lady  of  the  May,"  whispered  he 
reproachfully,  "  is  yon  wreath  of  roses  a  garland  to 
hang  above  our  graves,  that  you  look  so  sad?  O, 
Edith,  this  is  our  golden  time !  Tarnish  it  not  by  any 
pensive  shadow  of  the  mind ;  for  it  may  be  that  noth 
ing  of  futurity  will  be  brighter  than  the  mere  remem 
brance  of  what  is  now  passing." 

"  That  was  the  very  thought  that  saddened  me  ! 
How  came  it  in  your  mind  too  ?  "  said  Edith,  in  a  still 
lower  tone  than  he,  for  it  was  high  treason  to  be  sad 
at  Merry  Mount.  "  Therefore  do  I  sigh  amid  this  fes 
tive  music.  And  besides,  dear  Edgar,  I  struggle  as 
with  a  dream,  and  fancy  that  these  shapes  of  our  jovial 
friends  are  visionary,  and  their  mirth  unreal,  and  that 
we  are  no  true  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May-  What 
is  the  mystery  in  my  heart?  " 

Just  then,  as  if  a  spell  had  loosened  them,  down 
came  a  little  shower  of  withering  rose  leaves  from  the 


THE  MAYPOLE   OF  MERRY  MOUNT.        75 

Maypole.  Alas,  for  the  young  lovers!  No  sooner 
had  their  hearts  glowed  with  real  passion  than  they 
were  sensible  of  something  vague  and  unsubstantial 
in  their  former  pleasures,  and  felt  a  dreary  presenti 
ment  of  inevitable  change.  From  the  moment  that 
they  truly  loved,  they  had  subjected  themselves  to 
earth's  doom  of  care  and  sorrow,  and  troubled  joy, 
and  had  no  more  a  home  at  Merry  Mount.  That  was 
Edith's  mystery.  Now  leave  we  the  priest  to  many 
them,  and  the  masquers  to  sport  round  the  Maypole, 
till  the  last  sunbeam  be  withdrawn  from  its  summit, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  forest  mingle  glooinilv  in  the 
dance.  Meanwhile,  we  may  discover  who  these  gay 
people  were. 

Two  hundred  years  ago,  and  more,  the  old  world 
and  its  inhabitants  became  mutually  weary  of  each 
other.  Men  vo}Taged  by  thousands  to  the  West :  some 
to  barter  glass  beads,  and  such  like  jewels,  for  the  furs 
of  the  Indian  hunter ;  some  to  conquer  virgin  em 
pires  ;  and  one  stern  band  to  pray.  But  none  of  these 
motives  had  much  weight  with  the  colonists  of  Merry 
Mount.  Their  leaders  were  men  who  had  sported  so 
long  with  life,  that  when  Thought  and  Wisdom  came, 
even  these  unwelcome  guests  were  led  astray  by  the 
crowd  of  vanities  which  they  should  have  put  to  flight. 
Erring  Thought  and  perverted  Wisdom  were  made 
to  put  on  masques,  and  play  the  fool.  The  men  of 
whom  we  speak,  after  losing  the  heart's  fresh  gayety, 
imagined  a  wild  philosophy  of  pleasure,  and  came 
hither  to  act  out  their  latest  day-dream.  They  gath 
ered  followers  from  all  that  giddy  tribe  whose  whole 
life  is  like  the  festal  days  of  soberer  men.  In  their 
train  were  minstrels,  not  unknown  in  London  streets: 
wandering  nlnvprs,  whose  theatres  had  been  the  halls 


76  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

of  noblemen;  mummers,  rope-dancers,  and  mounte 
banks,  who  would  long  be  missed  at  wakes,  church 
ales,  and  fairs ;  in  a  word,  mirth  makers  of  every 
sort,  such  as  abounded  in  that  age,  but  now  began  to 
be  discountenanced  by  the  rapid  growth  of  Puritan 
ism.  Light  had  their  footsteps  been  on  land,  and  as 
lightly  they  came  across  the  sea.  Many  had  been 
maddened  by  their  previous  troubles  into  a  gay  de 
spair  ;  others  were  as  madly  gay  in  the  flush  of  youth, 
like  the  May  Lord  and  his  Lady ;  but  whatever  might 
be  the  quality  of  their  mirth,  old  and  young  were  gay 
at  Merry  Mount.  The  young  deemed  themselves 
happy.  The  elder  spirits,  if  they  knew  that  mirth 
was  but  the  counterfeit  of  happiness,  yet  followed  the 
false  shadow  wilfully,  because  at  least  her  garments 
glittered  brightest.  Sworn  triflers  of  a  lifetime,  they 
would  not  venture  among  the  sober  truths  of  life  not 
even  to  be  truly  blest. 

All  the  hereditary  pastimes  of  Old  England  were 
transplanted  hither.  The  King  of  Christmas  was  duly 
crowned,  and  the  Lord  of  Misrule  bore  potent  sway. 
On  the  Eve  of  St.  John,  they  felled  whole  acres  of  the 
forest  to  make  bonfires,  and  danced  by  the  blaze  all 
night,  crowned  with  garlands,  and  throwing  flowers 
into  the  flame.  At  harvest  time,  though  their  crop 
was  of  the  smallest,  they  made  an  image  with  the 
sheaves  of  Indian  corn,  and  wreathed  it  with  autumnal 
garlands,  and  bore  it  home  triumphantly.  But  what 
chiefly  characterized  the  colonists  of  Merry  Mount 
was  their  veneration  for  the  Maypole.  It  has  made 
their  true  history  a  poet's  tale.  Spring  decked  the 
hallowed  emblem  with  young  blossoms  and  fresh  green 
boughs ;  Summer  brought  roses  of  the  deepest  blush, 
and  the  perfected  foliage  of  the  forest ;  Autumn  en. 


THE  MAYPOLE   OF  MERRY  MOUNT.         77 

riched  it  with  that  red  and  yellow  gorgeousness  which 
converts  each  wildwood  leaf  into  a  painted  flower; 
and  Winter  silvered  it  with  sleet,  and  hung  it  round 
with  icicles,  till  it  flashed  in  the  cold  sunshine,  itself  a 
frozen  sunbeam.  Thus  each  alternate  season  did  hom 
age  to  the  Maypole,  and,  paid  it  a  tribute  of  its  own 
richest  splendor.  Its  votaries  danced  round  it,  once, 
at  least,  in  every  month;  sometimes  they  called  it 
their  religion,  or  their  altar ;  but  always,  it  was  the 
banner  staff  of  Merry  Mount. 

Unfortunately,  there  were  men  in  the  new  world  of 
a  sterner  faith  than  these  Maypole  worshippers.  Not 
far  from  Merry  Mount  was  a  settlement  of  Puritans, 
most  dismal  wretches,  who  said  their  prayers  before 
daylight,  and  then  wrought  in  the  forest  or  the  corn 
field  till  evening  made  it  prayer  time  again.  Their 
weapons  were  always  at  hand  to  shoot  down  the  strag 
gling  savage.  When  they  met  in  conclave,  it  was 
never  to  keep  up  the  old  English  mirth,  but  to  hear 
sermons  three  hours  long,  or  to  proclaim  bounties  on 
the  heads  of  wolves  and  the  scalps  of  Indians.  Their 
festivals  were  fast  days,  and  their  chief  pastime  the 
singing  of  psalms.  Woe  to  the  youth  or  maiden  who 
did  but  dream  of  a  dance !  The  selectman  nodded  to 
the  constable  ;  and  there  sat  the  light-heeled  reprobate 
in  the  stocks ;  or  if  he  danced,  it  was  round  the  whip 
ping-post,  which  might  be  termed  the  Puritan  May 
pole. 

A  party  of  these  grim  Puritans,  toiling  through  the 
difficult  woods,  each  with  a  horseload  of  iron  armor  to 
burden  his  footsteps,  would  sometimes  draw  near  the 
sunny  precincts  of  Merry  Mount.  There  were  the 
silken  colonists,  sporting  round  their  Maypole ;  per 
haps  teaching  a  bear  to  dance,  or  striving  to  conimuui* 


78  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

eate*their  mirth  to  the  grave  Indian ;  or  masquerad 
ing  in  the  skins  of  deer  and  wolves,  which  they  had 
hunted  for  that  especial  purpose.  Often,  the  whole 
colony  were  playing  at  blindmaii's  buff,  magistrates 
and  all,  with  their  eyes  bandaged,  except  a  single 
scapegoat,  whom  the  blinded^  sinners  pursued  by  the 
tinkling  of  the  bells  at  his  garments.  Once,  it  is  said, 
they  were  seen  following  a  flower-decked  corpse,  with 
merriment  and  festive  music,  to  his  grave.  But  did 
the  dead  man  laugh?  In  their  quietest  times,  they 
sang  ballads  and  told  tales,  for  the  edification  of  their 
pious  visitors  ;  or  perplexed  them  with  juggling  tricks ; 
or  grinned  at  them  through  horse  collars ;  and  when 
sport  itself  grew  wearisome,  they  made  game  of  their 
own  stupidity,  and  began  a  yawning  match.  At  the 
very  least  of  these  enormities,  the  men  of  iron  shook 
their  heads  and  frowned  so  darkly  that  the  revellers 
looked  up,  imagining  that  a  momentary  cloud  had  over 
cast  the  sunshine,  which  was  to  be  perpetual  there. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Puritans  affirmed  that,  when 
a  psalm  was  pealing  from  their  place  of  worship,  the 
echo  which  the  forest  sent  them  back  seemed  often 
like  the  chorus  of  a  jolly  catch,  closing  with  a  roar  of 
laughter.  Who  but  the  fiend,  and  his  bond  slaves, 
the  crew  of  Merry  Mount,  had  thus  disturbed  them? 
In  due  time,  a  feud  arose,  stern  and  bitter  on  one  side, 
and  as  serious  on  the  other  as  anything  could  be  among 
such  light  spirits  as  had  sworn  allegiance  to  the  May 
pole.  The  future  complexion  of  New  England  was 
involved  in  this  important  quarrel.  Should  the  griz 
zly  saints  establish  their  jurisdiction  over  the  gay 
sinners,  then  would  their  spirits  darken  all  the  clime, 
and  make  it  a  land  of  clouded  visages,  of  hard  toUj  oi 
sermon  and  psalm  forever.  But  should  the  banne/ 


THE  MAYPOLE   OF  MERRY  MOUNT.         79 

staff  of  Merry  Mount  be  fortunate,  sunshine  would 
break  upon  the  hills,  and  flowers  would  beautify  the 
forest,  and  late  posterity  do  homage  to  the  Maypole. 

After  these  authentic  passages  from  history,  we  re 
turn  to  the  nuptials  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May. 
Alas  !  we  have  delayed  too  long,  and  must  darken  our 
tale  too  suddenly.  As  we  glance  again  at  the  May 
pole,  a  solitary  sunbeam  is  fading  from  the  summit, 
and  leaves  only  a  faint,  golden  tinge  blended  with  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow  banner.  Even  that  dim  light  is 
now  withdrawn,  relinquishing  the  whole  domain  of 
Merry  Mount  to  the  evening  gloom,  which  has  rushed 
so  instantaneously  from  the  black  surrounding  woods. 
But  some  of  these  black  shadows  have  rushed  forth  in 
human  shape. 

Yes,  with  the  setting  sun,  the  last  day  of  mirth  had 
passed  from  Merry  Mount.  The  ring  of  gay  mas 
quers  was  disordered  and  broken :  the  stag  lowered 
his  antlers  in  dismay:  the  wolf  grew  weaker  than  a 
lamb ;  the  bells  of  the  morris-dancers  tinkled  with 
tremulous  affright.  The  Puritans  had  played  a  char 
acteristic  part  in  the  Maypole  mummeries.  Their 
darksome  figures  were  intermixed  with  the  wild  shapes 
of  their  foes,  and  made  the  scene  a  picture  of  the 
moment,  when  waking  thoughts  start  up  amid  the 
scattered  fantasies  of  a  dream.  The  leader  of  the 
hostile  party  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  circle,  while 
the  route  of  monsters  cowered  around  him.  like  evil 
spirits  in  the  presence  of  a  dread  magician.  No  fan 
tastic  foolery  could  look  him  in  the  face.  So  stern 
was  the  energy  of  his  aspect,  that  the  whole  man.  vis 
age,  frame,  and  soul,  seemed  wrought  of  iron,  gifted 
with  life  and  thought,  yet  all  of  one  substance  with 
his  headpiece  and  breastplate.  It  was  the  Puritan  of 
Puritans :  it  was  Endicott  himself ! 


80  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Stand  off,  priest  of  Baal !  "  said  he,  with  a  grim 
frown,  and  laying  no  reverent  hand  upon  the  surplice. 
"  I  know  thee,  Blackstone ! l  Thou  art  the  man  who 
couldst  not  abide  the  rule  even  of  thine  own  corrupted 
church,  and  hast  come  hither  to  preach  iniquity,  and 
to  give  example  of  it  in  thy  life.  But  now  shall  it  be 
seen  that  the  Lord  hath  sanctified  this  wilderness  for 
his  peculiar  people.  Woe  unto  them  that  would  defile 
it !  And  first,  for  this  flower-decked  abomination,  the 
altar  of  thy  worship  !  " 

And  with  his  keen  sword  Endicott  assaulted  the 
hallowed  Maypole.  Nor  long  did  it  resist  his  arm. 
It  groaned  with  a  dismal  sound ;  it  showered  leaves 
and  rosebuds  upon  the  remorseless  enthusiast ;  and 
finally,  with  all  its  green  boughs  and  ribbons  and 
flowers,  symbolic  of  departed  pleasures,  down  fell  the 
banner  staff  of  Merry  Mount.  As  it  sank,  tradition 
says,  the  evening  sky  grew  darker,  and  the  woods 
threw  forth  a  more  sombre  shadow. 

"  There,"  cried  Endicott,  looking  triumphantly  on 
his  work,  "  there  lies  the  only  Maypole  in  New  Eng 
land  !  The  thought  is  strong  within  me  that,  by  its 
fall,  is  shadowed  forth  the  fate  of  light  and  idle  mirth 
makers,  amongst  us  and  our  posterity.  Amen,  saith 
John  Endicott." 

"  Amen ! "  echoed  his  followers. 

But  the  votaries  of  the  Maypole  gave  one  groan  for 
their  idol.  At  the  sound,  the  Puritan  leader  glanced 
at  the  crew  of  Comus,  each  a  figure  of  broad  mirth, 
yet,  at  this  moment,  strangely  expressive  of  sorrow 
and  dismay. 

1  Did  Governor  Endicott  speak  less  positively,  we  should  suspect 
a  mistake  here.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Blackstone,  though  an  eccentrig,  is 
not  known  to  have  been  an  immoral  man.  We  rather  doubt  his  ideu. 
tity  with  the  priest  of  Merry  Mount. 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.         81 

"Valiant  captain,"  quoth  Peter  Palfrey,  the  Ancient 
of  the  band,  "what  order  shall  be  taken  with  the 
prisoners  ?  " 

"I  thought  not  to  repent  me  of  cutting  down  a 
Maypole,"  replied  Endicott,  "yet  now  I  could  find 
in  my  heart  to  plant  it  again,  and  give  each  of  these 
bestial  pagans  one  other  dance  round  their  idol.  It 
would  have  served  rarely  for  a  whipping-post ! " 

"  But  there  are  pine-trees  enow,"  suggested  the  lieu 
tenant.- 

"  True,  good  Ancient,"  said  the  leader.  "  Where 
fore,  bind  the  heathen  crew,  and  bestow  on  them  a 
small  matter  of  stripes  apiece,  as  earnest  of  our  future 
justice.  Set  some  of  the  rogues  in  the  stocks  to  rest 
themselves,  so  soon  as  Providence  shall  bring  us  to 
one  of  our  own  well-ordered  settlements,  where  such 
accommodations  may  be  found.  Further  penalties, 
such  as  branding  and  cropping  of  ears,  shall  be 
thought  of  hereafter." 

"  How  many  stripes  for  the  priest?"  inquired  An 
cient  Palfrey. 

"None  as  yet,"  answered  Endicott,  bending  his  iron 
frown  upon  the  culprit.  "  It  must  be  for  the  Great 
and  General  Court  to  determine,  whether  stripes  and 
long  imprisonment,  and  other  grievous  penalty,  may 
atone  for  his  transgressions.  Let  him  look  to  him 
self  !  For  such  as  violate  our  civil  order,  it  may  be 
permitted  us  to  show  mercy.  But  woe  to  the  wretch 
that  troubleth  our  religion  !  " 

"  And  this  dancing  bear,"  resumed  the  officer. 
*  Must  he  share  the  stripes  of  his  fellows  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him  through  the  head !  "  said  the  energetic 
Puritan.  "I  suspect  witchcraft  in  the  beast." 

"Here   be   a   couple   of  shining   ones,"   continued 


82  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Peter  Palfrey,  pointing  his  weapon  at  the  Lord  and 
Lady  of  the  May.  "  They  seem  to  be  of  high  station 
among  these  misdoers.  Methinks  their  dignity  will 
not  be  fitted  with  less  than  a  double  share  of  stripes." 

Endicott  rested  on  his  sword,  and  closely  surveyed 
the  dress  and  aspect  of  the  hapless  pair.  There  they 
stood,  pale,  downcast,  and  apprehensive.  Yet  there 
was  an  air  of  mutual  support,  and  of  pure  affection, 
seeking  aid  and  giving  it,  that  showed  them  to  be 
man  and  wife,  with  the  sanction  of  a  priest  upon  their 
love.  The  youth,  in  the  peril  of  the  moment,  had 
dropped  his  gilded  staff,  and  thrown  his  arm  about 
the  Lady  of  the  May,  who  leaned  against  his  breast, 
too  lightly  to  burden  him,  but  with  weight  enough  to 
express  that  their  destinies  were  linked  together,  for 
good  or  evil.  They  looked  first  at  each  other,  and 
then  into  the  grim  captain's  face.  There  they  stood, 
in  the  first  hour  of  wedlock,  while  the  idle  pleasures, 
of  which  their  companions  were  the  emblems,  had 
given  place  to  the  sternest  cares  of  life,  personified 
by  the  dark  Puritans.  But  never  had  their  youthful 
beauty  seemed  so  pure  and  high  as  when  its  glow  was 
chastened  by  adversity. 

"Youth,"  said  Endicott,  "ye  stand  in  an  evil  case 
thou  and  thy  maiden  wife.  Make  ready  presently, 
for  I  am  minded  that  ye  shall  both  have  a  token  to 
remember  your  wedding  day !  " 

"  Stern  man,"  cried  the  May  Lord,  "  how  can  I 
move  thee  ?  Were  the  means  at  hand,  I  would  resist 
to  the  death.  Being  powerless,  I  entreat !  Do  with 
me  as  thou  wilt,  but  let  Edith  go  untouched  !  " 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  immitigable  zealot.  "  We 
are  not  wont  to  show  an  idle  courtesy  to  that  sex, 
which  requireth  the  stricter  discipline.  What  sayest 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.    83 

thou,  maid?     Shall  thy  silken  bridegroom  suffer  thy 
share  of  the  penalty,  besides  his  own  ?  " 

"  Be  it  death,"  said  Edith,  "  and  lay  it  all  on  me  !  " 

Truly,  as  Endicott  had  said,  the  poor  lovers  stood 
in  a  woful  case.  Their  foes  were  triumphant,  their 
friends  captive  and  abased,  their  home  desolate,  the 
benighted  wilderness  around  them,  and  a  rigorous 
destiny,  in  the  shape  of  the  Puritan  leader,  their  only 
guide.  Yet  the  deepening  twilight  could  not  altogether 
conceal  that  the  iron  man  was  softened ;  he  smiled  at 
the  fair  spectacle  of  early  loye ;  he  almost  sighed  for 
the  inevitable  blight  of  early  hopes. 

"The  troubles  of  life  have  come  hastily  on  this 
young  couple,"  observed  Endicott.  "  We  will  see  how 
they  comport  themselves  under  their  present  trials  ere 
we  burden  them  with  greater.  If,  among  the  spoil, 
there  be  any  garments  of  a  more  decent  fashion,  let 
them  be  put  upon  this  May  Lord  and  his  Lady,  in 
stead  of  their  glistening  vanities.  Look  to  it,  some  of 
you." 

"And  shall  not  the  youth's  hair  be  cut?"  asked 
Peter  Palfrey,  looking  with  abhorrence  at  the  love 
lock  and  long  glossy  curls  of  the  young  man. 

"  Crop  it  forthwith,  and  that  in  the  true  pumpkin- 
shell  fashion,"  answered  the  captain.  "  Then  bring 
them  along  with  us,  but  more  gently  than  their  fel- 
jows.  There  be  qualities  in  the  youth,  which  may 
make  him  valiant  to  fight,  and  sober  to  toil,  and  pious 
to  pray ;  and  in  the  maiden,  that  may  fit  her  to  be 
come  a  mother  in  our  Israel,  bringing  up  babes  in 
better  nurture  than  her  own  hath  been.  Nor  think 
ye,  young  ones,  that  they  are  the  happiest,  even  in 
our  lifetime  of  a  moment,  who  misspend  it  in  danc 
ing  round  a  Maypole  1 " 


84  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

And  Endicott,  the  severest  Puritan  of  all  who  laid 
the  rock  foundation  of  New  England,  lifted  the  wreath 
of  roses  from  the  ruin  of  the  Maypole,  and  threw  it, 
with  his  own  gauntleted  hand,  over  the  heads  of  the 
Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May.  It  was  a  deed  of  proph 
ecy.  As  the  moral  gloom  of  the  world  overpowers  all 
systematic  gayety,  even  so  was  their  home  of  wild  mirth 
made  desolate  amid  the  sad  forest.  They  returned  to 
it  no  more.  But  as  their  flowery  garland  was  wreathed 
of  the  brightest  roses  that  had  grown  there,  so,  in  the 
tie  that  united  them,  were  intertwined  all  the  purest 
and  best  of  their  early  joys.  They  went  heavenward, 
supporting  each  other  along  the  difficult  path  which  it 
was  their  lot  to  tread,  and  never  wasted  one  regretful 
thought  on  the  vanities  of  Merry  Mount. 


THE   GENTLE  BOY. 

Ix  the  course  of  the  year  1656,  several  of  the  peo 
ple  called  Quakers,  led,  as  they  professed,  by  the  in 
ward  movement  of  the  spirit,  made  their  appearance 
in  New  England.  Their  reputation,  as  holders  of 
mystic  and  pernicious  principles,  having  spread  before 
them,  the  Puritans  early  endeavored  to  banish,  and  to 
prevent  the  further  intrusion  of  the  rising  sect.  But 
the  measures  by  which  it  was  intended  to  purge  the 
land  of  heresy,  though  more  than  sufficiently  vigorous, 
were  entirely  unsuccessful.  The  Quakers,  esteeming 
persecution  as  a  divine  call  to  the  post  of  danger,  laid 
claim  to  a  holy  courage,  unknown  to  the  Puritans 
themselves,  who  had  shunned  the  cross,  by  providing 
for  the  peaceable  exercise  of  their  religion  in  a  distant 
wilderness.  Though  it  was  the  singular  fact,  that 
every  nation  of  the  earth  rejected  the  wandering  en 
thusiasts  who  practised  peace  towards  all  men,  the 
place  of  greatest  uneasiness  and  peril,  and  therefore, 
in  their  eyes  the  most  eligible,  was  the  province  of 
Massachusetts  Bay. 

The  fines,  imprisonments,  and  stripes,  liberally  dis 
tributed  by  our  pious  forefathers ;  the  popular  antip 
athy,  so  strong  that  it  endured  nearly  a  hundred  years 
after  actual  persecution  had  ceased,  were  attractions 
as  powerful  for  the  Quakers,  as  peace,  honor,  and  re 
ward,  would  have  been  for  the  worldly  minded.  Every 
European  vessel  brought  new  cargoes  of  the  sect,  eager 
to  testify  against  the  oppression  which  they  hoped  to 


86  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

share  ;  and  when  shipmasters  were  restrained  by  heavy 
fines  from  affording  them  passage,  they  made  long 
and  circuitous  journeys  through  the  Indian  country, 
and  appeared  in  the  province  as  if  conveyed  by  a 
supernatural  power.  Their  enthusiasm,  heightened  al 
most  to  madness  by  the  treatment  which  they  received, 
produced  actions  contrary  to  the  rules  of  decency,  as 
well  as  of  rational  religion,  and  presented  a  singular 
contrast  to  the  calm  and  staid  deportment  of  their 
sectarian  successors  of  the  present  day.  The  com 
mand  of  the  spirit,  inaudible  except  to  the  soul,  and 
not  to  be  controverted  on  grounds  of  human  wisdom, 
was  made  a  plea  for  most  indecorous  exhibitions, 
which,  abstractedly  considered,  well  deserved  the  mod 
erate  chastisement  of  the  rod.  These  extravagances, 
and  the  persecution  which  was  at  once  their  cause  and 
consequence,  continued  to  increase,  till,  in  the  year 
1659,  the  government  of  Massachusetts  Bay  indulged 
two  members  of  the  Quaker  sect  with  the  crown  of 
martyrdom. 

An  indelible  stain  of  blood  is  upon  the  hands  of  all 
who  consented  to  this  act,  but  a  large  share  of  the  aw 
ful  responsibility  must  rest  upon  the  person  then  at 
the  head  of  the  government.  He  was  a  man  of  narrow 
mind  and  imperfect  education,  and  his  uncompromis 
ing  bigotry  was  made  hot  and  mischievous  by  violent 
and  hasty  passions;  he  exerted  his  influence  indeco 
rously  and  unjustifiably  to  compass  the  death  of  the 
enthusiasts;  and  his  whole  conduct,  in  respect  to  them, 
was  marked  by  brutal  cruelty.  The  Quakers,  whose 
revengeful  feelings  were  not  less  deep  because  they 
were  inactive,  remembered  this  man  and  his  associates 
in  after  times.  The  historian  of  the  sect  affirms  that, 
by  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  a  blight  fell  upon  the  land  ID 


THE    GEXTLE   BOY.  87 

the  vicinity  of  the  "  bloody  town  "  of  Boston,  so  that 
no  wheat  would  grow  there ;  and  he  takes  his  stand, 
as  it  were,  among  the  graves  of  the  ancient  persecu 
tors,  and  triumphantly  recounts  the  judgments  that 
overtook  them,  in  old  age  or  at  the  parting  hour.  He 
tells  us  that  they  died  suddenly  and  violently  and  in 
madness ;  but  nothing  can  exceed  the  bitter  mockery 
with  which  he  records  the  loathsome  disease,  and 
"death  by  rottenness,"  of  the  fierce  and  cruel  gov 
ernor. 

On  the  evening  of  the  autumn  day  that  had  wit 
nessed  the  martyrdom  of  two  men  of  the  Quaker 
persuasion,  a  Puritan  settler  was  returning  from  the 
metropolis  to  the  neighboring  country  town  in  which 
he  resided.  The  air  was  cool,  the  sky  clear,  and  the 
lingering  twilight  was  made  brighter  by  the  rays  of  a 
young  moon,  which  had  now  nearly  reached  the  verge 
of  the  horizon.  The  traveller,  a  man  of  middle  age, 
wrapped  in  a  gray  frieze  cloak,  quickened  his  pace 
when  he  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  for  a 
gloomy  extent  of  nearly  four  miles  lay  between  him 
and  his  home.  The  low,  straw-thatched  houses  were 
scattered  at  considerable  intervals  along  the  road,  and 
the  country  having  been  settled  but  about  thirty  years, 
the  tracts  of  original  forest  still  bore  no  small  pro 
portion  to  the  cultivated  ground.  The  autumn  wind 
wandered  among  the  branches,  whirling  away  the 
leaves  from  all  except  the  pine-trees,  and  moaning  as 
if  it  lamented  the  desolation  of  which  it  was  the  in 
strument.  The  road  had  penetrated  the  mass  of 
woods  that  lay  nearest  to  the  town,  and  was  just 
emerging  into  an  open  space,  when  the  traveller's  ears 
were  saluted  by  a  sound  more  mournful  than  even 


88  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

that  of  the  wind.  It  was  like  the  wailing  of  some 
one  in  distress,  and  it  seemed  to  proceed  from  beneath 
a  tall  and  lonely  fir-tree,  in  the  centre  of  a  cleared 
but  uninclosed  and  uncultivated  field.  The  Puritan 
could  not  but  remember  that  this  was  the  very  spot 
which  had  been  made  accursed  a  few  hours  before  by 
the  execution  of  the  Quakers,  whose  bodies  had  been 
thrown  together  into  one  hasty  grave,  beneath  the  tree 
on  which  they  suffered.  He  struggled,  however, 
against  the  superstitious  fears  which  belonged  to  the 
age,  and  compelled  himself  to  pause  and  listen. 

"  The  voice  is  most  likely  mortal,  nor  have  I  cause 
to  tremble  if  it  be  otherwise,"  thought  he,  straining 
his  eyes  through  the  dim  moonlight.  "  Methinks  it  is 
like  the  wailing  of  a  child ;  some  infant,  it  may  beT 
which  has  strayed  from  its  mother,  and  chanced  upon 
this  place  of  death.  For  the  ease  of  mine  own  con 
science  I  must  search  this  matter  out." 

He  therefore  left  the  path,  and  walked  somewhat 
fearfully  across  the  field.  Though  now  so  desolate,  its 
soil  was  pressed  down  and  trampled  by  the  thousand 
footsteps  of  those  who  had  witnessed  the  spectacle  of 
that  day,  all  of  whom  had  now  retired,  leaving  the 
dead  to  their  loneliness.  The  traveller  at  length 
reached  the  fir-tree,  which  from  the  middle  upward 
was  covered  with  living  branches,  although  a  scaffold 
had  been  erected  beneath,  and  other  preparations 
made  for  the  work  of  death.  Under  this  unhappy 
tree,  which  in  after  times  was  believed  to  drop  poison 
with  its  dew,  sat  the  one  solitary  mourner  for  innocent 
blood.  It  was  a  slender  and  light  clad  little  boy,  who 
leaned  his  face  upon  a  hillock  of  fresh-turned  and 
half-frozen  earth,  and  wailed  bitterly,  yet  in  a  sup 
pressed  tone,  as  if  his  grief  might  receive  the  punish 


THE   GEXTLE  BOY.  89 

ment  of  crime.  The  Puritan,  whose  approach  had 
been  unperceived,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  child's 
shoulder,  and  addressed  him  compassionately. 

"You  have  chosen  a  dreary  lodging,  my  poor  boy, 
and  no  wonder  that  you  weep,"  said  he.  "  But  dry 
your  eyes,  and  tell  me  where  your  mother  dwells.  I 
promise  you,  if  the  journey  be  not  too  far,  I  will  leave 
you  in  her  arms  to-night.'' 

The  boy  had  hushed  his  wailing  at  once,  and  turned 
his  face  upward  to  the  stranger.  It  was  a  pale,  bright- 
eyed  countenance,  certainly  not  more  than  six  years 
old,  but  sorrow,  fear,  and  want  had  destroyed  much 
of  its  infantile  expression.  The  Puritan  seeing  the 
boy's  frightened  gaze,  and  feeling  that  he  trembled 
under  his  hand,  endeavored  to  reassure  him. 

"  Nay,  if  I  intended  to  do  you  harm,  little  lad,  the 
readiest  way  were  to  leave  you  here.  What !  you  do 
not  fear  to  sit  beneath  the  gallows  on  a  new-made 
grave,  and  yet  you  tremble  at  a  friend's  touch.  Take 
heart,  child,  and  tell  rue  what  is  your  name  and  where 
is  your  home?  " 

44  Friend,"  replied  the  little  boy,  in  a  sweet  though 
faltering  voice,  k*  they  call  me  Ilbraliim,  and  my  home 
is  here." 

The  pale,  spiritual  face,  the  eyes  that  seemed  to 
mingle  with  the  moonlight,  the  sweet,  airy  voice,  and 
the  outlandish  name,  almost  made  the  Puritan  believe 
that  the  boy  was  in  truth  a  being  which  had  sprung 
up  out  of  the  grave  on  which  he  sat.  But  perceiving 
that  the  apparition  stood  the  test  of  a  short  mental 
prayer,  and  remembering  that  the  arm  which  he  had 
touched  was  lifelike,  he  adopted  a  more  rational  sup 
position.  k'  The  poor  child  is  stricken  in  his  intellect,'' 
thought  he,  4*  but  verily  his  words  are  fearful  in  a 


90  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

place  like  this."  He  then  spoke  soothingly,  intending 
to  humor  the  boy's  fantasy. 

"  Your  home  will  scarce  be  comfortable,  Ilbrahim, 
this  cold  autumn  night,  and  I  fear  you  are  ill-provided 
with  food.  I  am  hastening  to  a  warm  supper  and  bed, 
and  if  you  will  go  with  me  you  shall  share  them !  " 

"  I  thank  thee,  friend,  but  though  I  be  hungry,  and 
shivering  with  cold,  thou  wilt  not  give  me  food  nor 
lodging,"  replied  the  boy,  in  the  quiet  tone  which 
despair  had  taught  him,  even  so  young.  "  My  father 
was  of  the  people  whom  all  men  hate.  They  have  laid 
him  under  this  heap  of  earth,  and  here  is  my  home." 

The  Puritan,  who  had  laid  hold  of  little  Ilbrahim's 
hand,  relinquished  it  as  if  he  were  touching  a  loath 
some  reptile.  But  he  possessed  a  compassionate  heart, 
which  not  even  religious  prejudice  could  harden  into 
stone. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  leave  this  child  to  per 
ish,  though  he  comes  of  the  accursed  sect,"  said  he  to 
himself.  "  Do  we  not  all  spring  from  an  evil  root? 
Are  we  not  all  in  darkness  till  the  light  doth  shine 
upon  us  ?  He  shall  not  perish,  neither  in  body,  nor, 
if  prayer  and  instruction  may  avail  for  him,  in  soul." 
He  then  spoke  aloud  and  kindly  to  Ilbrahim,  who  had 
again  hid  his  face  in  the  cold  earth  of  the  grave. 
"  Was  every  door  in  the  land  shut  against  you,  my 
child,  that  you  have  wandered  to  this  unhallowed 
spot?" 

"  They  drove  me  forth  from  the  prison  when  they 
took  my  father  thence,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  I  stood 
afar  off  watching  the  crowd  of  people,  and  when  they 
were  gone  I  came  hither,  and  found  only  his  grave. 
I  knew  that  my  father  was  sleeping  here,  and  I  said 
this  shall  be  my  home." 


THE  GEXTLE  BOY.  91 

'•  No.  child,  no :  not  while  I  have  a  roof  over  my 
head,  or  a  morsel  to  share  with  you !  "  exclaimed  the 
Puritan,  whose  sympathies  were  now  fully  excited. 
44  Rise  up  and  come  with  me,  and  fear  not  any  harm." 

The  boy  wept  afresh,  and  clung  to  the  heap  of 
earth  as  if  the  cold  heart  beneath  it  were  wanner  tc 
him  than  any  in  a  living  breast.  The  traveller,  how 
ever,  continued  to  entreat  him  tenderlv.  and  seeming 
to  acquire  some  degree  of  confidence,  he  at  lemrth 
arose.  But  his  slender  limbs  tottered  with  weakness, 
his  little  head  grew  dizzy,  and  he  leaned  against  the 
tree  of  death  for  support. 

-  My  poor  boy.  are  you  so  feeble  ?  "*  said  the  Puri 
tan.  *•  When  did  you  taste  food  last  ?  " 

"  I  ate  of  bread  and  water  with  my  father  in  the 
prison."  replied  Ilbrahim.  "  but  they  brought  him  none 
neither  yesterday  nor  to-day,  saying  that  he  had  eaten 
enough  to  bear  him  to  his  journey's  end.  Trouble  not 
thyself  for  my  hunger,  kind  friend,  for  I  have  lacked 
food  many  times  ere  now." 

The  traveller  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  wrapped 
his  cloak  about  him,  while  his  heart  stirred  with  shame 
and  anger  against  the  gratuitous  cruelty  of  the  instru 
ments  in  this  persecution.  In  the  awakened  warmth 
of  his  feelings  he  resolved  that,  at  whatever  risk,  he 
would  not  forsake  the  poor  little  defenceless  being 
whom  Heaven  had  confided  to  his  care.  With  this 
determination  he  left  the  accursed  field,  and  resumed 
the  homeward  path  from  which  the  wailing  of  the  boy 
had  called  him.  The  light  and  motionless  burden 
scarcely  impeded  his  progress,  and  he  soon  beheld  the 
fire  rays  from  the  windows  of  the  cottage  which  he.  a 
native  of  a  distant  clime,  had  built  in  the  western  wil 
derness.  It  was  surrounded  bv  a  considerable  extent 


92  TWICE-TOLD    TALKS. 

of  cultivated  ground,  and  the  dwelling  was  situated  in 
the  nook  of  a  wood-covered  hill,  whither  it  seemed  to 
have  crept  for  protection. 

"Look  up,  child,"  said  the  Puritan  to  Ilbrahim, 
whose  faint  head  had  sunk  upon  his  shoulder,  "  there 
is  our  home." 

At  the  word  "home,"  a  thrill  passed  through  the 
child's  frame,  but  he  continued  silent.  A  few  moments 
brought  them  to  a  cottage  door,  at  which  the  owner 
knocked  ;  for  at  that  early  period,  when  savages  were 
wandering  everywhere  among  the  settlers,  bolt  and 
bar  were  indispensable  to  the  security  of  a  dwelling. 
The  summons  was  answered  by  a  bond-servant,  a 
coarse-clad  and  dull-featured  piece  of  humanity,  who. 
after  ascertaining  that  his  master  was  the  applicant, 
Amdid  the  door,  and  held  a  flaring  pine-knot  torch  to 
light  him  in.  Farther  back  in  the  passage-way,  the 
red  blaze  discovered  a  matronly  woman,  but  no  little 
crowd  of  children  came  bounding  forth  to  greet  their 
father's  return.  As  the  Puritan  entered,  he  thrust 
aside  his  cloak,  and  displayed  Ilbrahim's  face  to  the 
female. 

"  Dorothy,  here  is  a  little  outcast,  whom  Providence 
hath  put  into  our  hands,"  observed  he.  "  Be  kind  to 
him,  even  as  if  he  were  of  those  deaf  ones  who  have 
departed  from  us." 

"  What  pale  and  bright-eyed  little  boy  is  this,  To 
bias?  "  she  inquired.  "  Is  he  one  whom  the  wilderness 
folk  have  ravished  from  some  Christian  mother  ?  " 

"No,  Dorothy,  this  poor  child  is  no  captive  from 
the  wilderness,"  he  replied.  "The  heathen  savage 
would  have  given  him  to  eat  of  his  scanty  morsel,  and 
to  drink  of  his  birchen  cup ;  but  Christian  men,  alas! 
had  cast  him  out  to  die." 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  93 

Then  he  told  her  how  he  had  found  him  beneath 
the  gallows,  upon  his  father's  grave ;  and  how  his 
heart  had  prompted  him,  like  the  speaking  of  an  in 
ward  voice,  to  take  the  little  outcast  home,  and  be 
kind  unto  him.  He  acknowledged  his  resolution  to 
feed  and  clothe  him,  as  if  he  were  his  own  child,  and 
to  afford  him  the  instruction  which  should  counteract 
the  pernicious  errors  hitherto  instilled  into  his  infant 
mind.  Dorothy  was  gifted  with  even  a  quicker  ten 
derness  than  her  husband,  and  she  approved  of  all  his 
doings  and  intentions. 

"  Have  you  a  mother,  dear  child  ?  "  she  inquired. 

The  tears  burst  forth  from  his  full  heart,  as  he  at 
tempted  to  reply ;  but  Dorothy  at  length  understood 
that  he  had  a  mother,  who,  like  the  rest  of  her  sect, 
was  a  persecuted  wanderer.  She  had  been  taken  from 
the  prison  a  short  time  before,  carried  into  the  unin 
habited  wilderness,  and  left  to  perish  there  by  hunger 
or  wild  beasts.  This  was  no  uncommon  method  of 
disposing  of  the  Quakers,  and  they  were  accustomed 
to  boast  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  desert  were  more 
hospitable  to  them  than  civilized  man. 

"  Fear  not,  little  boy,  you  shall  not  need  a  mother, 
and  a  kind  one,"  said  Dorothy,  when  she  had  gathered 
this  information.  "  Dry  your  tears,  Ilbrahim,  and  be 
my  child,  as  I  will  be  your  mother." 

The  good  woman  prepared  the  little  bed,  from 
which  her  own  children  had  successively  been  borne  to 
another  resting-place.  Before  Ilbrahim  would  consent 
to  occupy  it,  he  knelt  down,  and  as  Dorothy  listened 
to  his  simple  and  affecting  prayer,  she  marvelled  how 
the  parents  that  had  taught  it  to  him  could  have  been 
mdged  worthy  of  death.  When  the  boy  had  fallen 
asleep,  she  bent  over  his  pale  and  spiritual  counte- 


94  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

nance,  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  white  brow,  drew  the 
bedclothes  up  about  his  neck,  and  went  away  with  a 
pensive  gladness  in  her  heart. 

Tobias  Pearson  was  not  among  the  earliest  emi 
grants  from  the  old  country.  He  had  remained  in 
England  during  the  first  years  of  the  civil  war,  in 
which  he  had  borne  some  share  as  a  cornet  of  dra 
goons,  under  Cromwell.  But  when  the  ambitious  de 
signs  of  his  leader  began  to  develop  themselves,  he 
quitted  the  army  of  the  Parliament,  and  sought  a  ref 
uge  from  the  strife,  which  was  no  longer  holy,  among 
the  people  of  his  persuasion  in  the  colony  of  Massa 
chusetts.  A  more  worldly  consideration  had  perhaps 
an  influence  in  drawing  him  thither ;  for  New  England 
offered  advantages  to  men  of  unprosperous  fortunes, 
as  well  as  to  dissatisfied  religionists,  and  Pearson  had 
hitherto  found  it  difficult  to  provide  for  a  wife  and  in 
creasing  family.  To  this  supposed  impurity  of  motive 
the  more  bigoted  Puritans  were  inclined  to  impute  the 
removal  by  death  of  all  the  children,  for  whose  earthly 
good  the  father  had  been  over-thoughtful.  They  had 
left  their  native  country  blooming  like  roses,  and  like 
roses  they  had  perished  in  a  foreign  soil.  Those  ex 
pounders  of  the  ways  of  Providence,  who  had  thus 
judged  their  brother,  and  attributed  his  domestic  sor 
rows  to  his  sin,  were  not  more  charitable  when  they 
saw  him  and  Dorothy  endeavoring  to  fill  up  the  void 
in  their  hearts  by  the  adoption  of  an  infant  of  the 
accursed  sect.  Nor  did  they  fail  to  communicate 
their  disapprobation  to  Tobias ;  but  the  latter,  in  re 
ply,  merely  pointed  at  the  little,  quiet,  lovely  boy, 
whose  appearance  and  deportment  were  indeed  as  pow 
erful  arguments  as  could  possibly  have  been  adduced 
in  his  own  favor.  Even  his  beauty,  however,  and  his 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  95 

winning  manners,  sometimes  produced  an  effect  ulti 
mately  unfavorable ;  for  the  bigots,  when  the  outer 
surfaces  of  their  iron  hearts  had  been  softened  and 
again  grew  hard,  affirmed  that  no  merely  natural 
cause  could  have  so  worked  upon  them. 

Their  antipathy  to  the  poor  infant  was  also  in 
creased  by  the  ill  success  of  divers  theological  discus 
sions,  in  which  it  was  attempted  to  convince  him  of 
the  errors  of  his  sect.  Ilbrahim,  it  is  true,  was  not  a 
skilful  controversialist ;  but  the  feeling  of  his  religion 
was  strong  as  instinct  in  him,  and  he  could  neither  be 
enticed  nor  driven  from  the  faith  which  his  father  had 
died  for.  The  odium  of  this  stubbornness  was  shared 
in  a  great  measure  by  the  child's  protectors,  insomuch 
that  Tobias  and  Dorothy  very  shortly  began  to  expe 
rience  a  most  bitter  species  of  persecution,  in  the  cold 
regards  of  many  a  friend  whom  they  had  valued.  The 
common  people  manifested  their  opinions  more  openly. 
Pearson  was  a  man  of  some  consideration,  being  a 
representative  to  the  General  Court,  and  an  approved 
lieutenant  in  the  trainbands,  yet  within  a  week  after 
his  adoption  of  Ilbrahim  he  had  been  both  hissed  and 
hooted.  Once,  also,  when  walking  through  a  solitary 
piece  of  woods,  he  heard  a  loud  voice  from  some  in 
visible  speaker  ;  and  it  cried,  "  What  shall  be  done  to 
the  backslider  ?  Lo  !  the  scourge  is  knotted  for  him, 
even  the  whip  of  nine  cords,  and  every  cord  three 
knots !  "  These  insults  irritated  Pearson's  temper  for 
the  moment ;  they  entered  also  into  his  heart,  and  be 
came  imperceptible  but  powerful  workers  towards  an 
end  wrhich  his  most  secret  thought  had  not  yet  whis 
pered. 

On  the  second  Sabbath  after  Ilbrahim  became  a 


96  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

member  of  their  family,  Pearson  and  his  wife  deemed 
it  proper  that  he  should  appear  with  them  at  public 
worship.  They  had  anticipated  some  opposition  to 
this  measure  from  the  boy,  but  he  prepared  himself 
in  silence,  and  at  the  appointed  hour  was  clad  in  the 
new  mourning  suit  which  Dorothy  had  wrought  for 
him.  As  the  parish  was  then,  and  during  many  sub 
sequent  years,  unprovided  with  a  bell,  the  signal  for 
the  commencement  of  religious  exercises  was  the  beat 
of  a  drum.  At  the  first  sound  of  that  martial  call 
to  the  place  of  holy  and  quiet  thoughts,  Tobias  and 
Dorothy  set  forth,  each  holding  a  hand  of  little  Ilbra- 
him,  like  two  parents  linked  together  by  the  infant  of 
their  love.  On  their  path  through  the  leafless  woods 
they  were  overtaken  by  many  persons  of  their  ac 
quaintance,  all  of  whom  avoided  them,  and  passed  by 
on  the  other  side  ;  but  a  severer  trial  awaited  their 
constancy  when  they  had  descended  the  hill,  and  drew 
near  the  pine-built  and  undecorated  house  of  prayer. 
Around  the  door,  from  which  the  drummer  still  sent 
forth  his  thundering  summons,  was  drawn  up  a  for 
midable  phalanx,  including  several  of  the  oldest  mem 
bers  of  the  congregation,  many  of  the  middle  aged, 
and  nearly  all  the  younger  males.  Pearson  found 
it  difficult  to  sustain  their  united  and  disapproving 
gaze,  but  Dorothy,  whose  mind  was  differently  circum 
stanced,  merely  drew  the  boy  closer  to  her,  and  fal 
tered  not  in  her  approach.  As  they  entered  the  door, 
they  overheard  the  muttered  sentiments  of  the  assem 
blage,  and  when  the  reviling  voices  of  the  little  chil 
dren  smote  Ilbrahim's  ear,  he  wept. 

The  interior  aspect  of  the  meeting-house  was  rude. 
The  low  ceiling,  the  unplastered  walls,  the  naked 
wood  work,  and  the  undraperied  pulpit,  offered  noth- 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  97 

ing  to  excite  the  devotion,  which,  without  such  exter 
nal  aids,  often  remains  latent  in  the  heart.  The  floor 
of  the  building  was  occupied  by  rows  of  long,  cushion- 
less  benches,  supplying  the  place  of  pews,  and  the 
broad  aisle  formed  a  sexual  division,  impassable  ex 
cept  by  children  beneath  a  certain  age. 

Pearson  and  Dorothy  separated  at  the  door  of  the 
meeting-house,  and  Ilbrahim,  being  within  the  years 
of  infancy,  was  retained  under  the  care  of  the  latter. 
The  wrinkled  beldams  involved  themselves  in  their 
rust}'  cloaks  as  he  passed  by ;  even  the  mild-featured 
maidens  seemed  to  dread  contamination  ;  and  many 
a  stern  old  man  arose,  and  turned  his  repulsive  and 
unheavenly  countenance  upon  the  gentle  boy,  as  if  the 
sanctuary  were  polluted  by  his  presence.  He  was  a 
sweet  infant  of  the  skies  that  had  strayed  away  from 
his  home,  and  all  the  inhabitants  of  this  miserable 
world  closed  up  their  impure  hearts  against  him,  drew 
back  their  earth-soiled  garments  from  his  touch,  and 
said,  "  We  are  holier  than  thou.'' 

Ilbrahim,  seated  by  the  side  of  his  adopted  mother, 
and  retaining  fast  hold  of  her  hand,  assumed  a  grave 
and  decorous  demeanor,  such  as  might  befit  a  person 
of  matured  taste  and  understanding,  who  should  find 
himself  in  a  temple  dedicated  "to  some  worship  which 
he  did  not  recognize,  but  felt  himself  bound  to  respect. 
The  exercises  had  not  yet  commenced,  however,  when 
the  boy's  attention  was  arrested  by  an  event,  appar 
ently  of  trifling  interest.  A  woman,  having  her  face 
muffled  in  a  hood,  and  a  cloak  drawn  completely  about 
her  form,  advanced  slowly  up  the  broad  aisle  and  took 
a  place  upon  the  foremost  bench.  Ilbrahim's  faint 
color  varied,  his  nerves  fluttered,  he  was  unable  to 
turn  his  eves  from  the  muffled  female. 


98  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

When  the  preliminary  prayer  and  hymn  were  over, 
the  minister  arose,  and  having  turned  the  hour-glass 
which  stood  by  the  great  Bible,  commenced  his  dis 
course.  He  was  now  well  stricken  in  years,  a  man  of 
pale,  thin  countenance,  and  his  gray  hairs  were  closely 
covered  by  a  black  velvet  skullcap.  In  his  younger 
days  he  had  practically  learned  the  meaning  of  perse 
cution  from  Archbishop  Laud,  and  he  was  not  now 
disposed  to  forget  the  lesson  against  which  he  had 
murmured  then.  Introducing  the  often  discussed  sub 
ject  of  the  Quakers,  he  gave  a  history  of  that  sect,  and 
a  description  of  their  tenets,  in  which  error  predomi 
nated,  and  prejudice  distorted  the  aspect  of  what  was 
true.  He  adverted  to  the  recent  measures  in  the  prov 
ince,  and  cautioned  his  hearers  of  weaker  parts  against 
calling  in  question  the  just  severity  which  God-fear 
ing  magistrates  had  at  length  been  compelled  to  exer 
cise.  He  spoke  of  the  danger  of  pity,  in  some  cases  a 
commendable  and  Christian  virtue,  but  inapplicable  to 
this  pernicious  sect.  He  observed  that  such  was  their 
devilish  obstinacy  in  error,  that  even  the  little  chil 
dren,  the  sucking  babes,  were  hardened  and  desperate 
heretics.  He  affirmed  that  no  man,  without  Heaven's 
especial  warrant,  should  attempt  their  conversion,  lest 
while  he  lent  his  hand  to  draw  them  from  the  slough, 
he  should  himself  be  precipitated  into  its  lowest 
depths. 

The  sands  of  the  second  hour  were  principally  in 
the  lower  half  of  the  glass  when  the  sermon  concluded. 
An  approving  murmur  followed,  and  the  clergyman, 
having  given  out  a  hymn,  took  his  seat  with  much 
self-congratulation,  and  endeavored  to  read  the  effect 
of  his  eloquence  in  the  visages  of  the  people.  I^ut 
while  voices  from  all  parts  of  the  house  were  tuning 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  99 

themselves  to  sing,  a  scene  occurred,  which,  though 
not  very  unusual  at  that  period  in  the  province,  hap 
pened  to  be  without  precedent  in  this  parish. 

The  muffled  female,  who  had  hitherto  sat  motionless 
in  the  front  rank  of  the  audience,  now  arose,  and  with 
slow,  stately,  and  unwavering  step,  ascended  the  pul 
pit  stairs.  The  quiver  Lags  of  incipient  harmony  were 
hushed,  and  the  divine  sat  in  speechless  and  almost 
terrified  astonishment,  while  she  undid  the  door,  and 
stood  up  in  the  sacred  desk  from  which  his  maledic 
tions  had  just  been  thundered.  She  then  divested  her 
self  of  the  cloak  and  hood,  and  appeared  in  a  most 
singular  array.  A  shapeless  robe  of  sackcloth  was 
girded  about  her  waist  with  a  knotted  cord ;  her  raven 
hair  fell  down  upon  her  shoulders,  and  its  blackness 
was  defiled  by  pale  streaks  of  ashes,  which  she  had 
strown  upon  her  head.  Her  eyebrows,  dark  and 
strongly  defined,  added  to  the  deathly  whiteness  of  a 
countenance,  which,  emaciated  with  want,  and  wild 
with  enthusiasm  and  strange  sorrows,  retained  no  trace 
of  earlier  beauty.  This  figure  stood  gazing  earnestly 
on  the  audience,  and  there  was  no  sound,  nor  any 
movement,  except  a  faint  shuddering  which  every  man 
observed  in  his  neighbor,  but  was  scarcely  conscious 
of  in  himself.  At  length,  when  her  fit  of  inspiration 
came,  she  spoke,  for  the  first  few  moments,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  not  invariably  distinct  utterance.  Her  dis 
course  gave  evidence  of  an  imagination  hopelessly 
entangled  with  her  reason;  it  was  a  vague  and  in 
comprehensible  rhapsody,  which,  however,  seemed  to 
spread  its  own  atmosphere  round  the  hearer's  soul, 
and  to  move  his  feelings  by  some  influence  uncon 
nected  with  the  words.  As  she  proceeded,  beautiful 
but  shadowy  images  would  sometimes  be  seen,  like 


100  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

bright  things  moving  in  a  turbid  river ;  or  a  strong 
and  sinsrularly-shaped  idea  leaped  forth,  and  seized 
at  once  on  the  understanding  or  the  heart.  But  the 
course  of  her  unearthly  eloquence  soon  led  her  to  the 
persecutions  of  her  sect,  and  from  thence  the  step  was 
short  to  her  own  peculiar  sorrows.  She  was  naturally 
a  woman  of  mighty  passions,  and  hatred  and  revenge 
now  wrapped  themselves  in  the  garb  of  piety;  the 
character  of  her  speech  was  changed,  her  images  be 
came  distinct  though  wild,  and  her  denunciations  had 
an  almost  hellish  bitterness. 

••  The  Governor  and  his  mighty  men,"  she  said, 
"  have  gathered  together,  taking  counsel  among  them 
selves  and  saying,  •  What  shall  we  do  unto  this  people 
—  even  unto  the  people  that  have  come  into  this  land 
to  put  our  iniquity  to  the  blush  ? ?  And  lo !  the  devil 
entereth  into  the  council  chamber,  like  a  lame  man  of 
low  stature  and  gravely  apparelled,  with  a  dark  and 
twisted  countenance,  and  a  bright,  downcast  eye.  And 
he  standeth  up  among  the  rulers :  yea,  he  goeth  to  and 
fro.  whispering  to  each  ;  and  every  man  lends  his  ear, 
for  his  word  is  *  Slay,  slay ! '  But  I  say  unto  ye, 
Woe  to  them  that  slay  !  Woe  to  them  that  shed  the 
blood  of  saints !  Woe  to  them  that  have  slain  the 
husband,  and  cast  forth  the  child,  the  tender  infant, 
to  wander  homeless  and  hungry  and  cold,  till  he  die ; 
and  have  saved  the  mother  alive,  in  the  cruelty  of  their 
tender  mercies !  Woe  to  them  in  their  lifetime !  cursed 
are  they  in  the  delight  and  pleasure  of  their  hearts  I 
Woe  to  them  in  their  death  hour,  whether  it  come 
swiftly  with  blood  and  violence,  or  after  long  and 
lingering  pain  !  Woe.  in  the  dark  house,  in  the  rot 
tenness  of  the  grave,  when  the  children's  children  shall 
revile  the  ashes  of  the  fathers !  Woe,  woe,  woo,  ai 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  101 

the  judgment,  when  all  the  persecuted  and  all  the  slain 
in  this  bloody  land,  and  the  father,  the  mother,  and 
the  child,  shall  await  them  in  a  day  that  they  cannot 
escape !  Seed  of  the  faith,  seed  of  the  faith,  ye  whose 
hearts  are  moving  with  a  power  that  ye  know  not, 
arise,  wash  TOUT  hands  of  this  innocent  blood  !  Lift 
your  voices,  chosen  ones  ;  cry  aloud,  and  call  down  a 
woe  and  a  judgment  with  me ! 

Having  thus  given  vent  to  the  flood  of  malignity 
which  she  mistook  for  inspiration,  the  speaker  was 
silent.  Her  voice  was  succeeded  by  the  hysteric  shrieks 
of  several  women,  but  the  feelings  of  the  audience  gen 
erally  had  not  been  drawn  onward  in  the  current  with 
her  own.  They  remained  stupefied,  stranded  as  it 
were,  in  the  midst  of  a  torrent,  which  deafened  them 
by  its  roaring,  but  might  not  move  them  by  its  vio 
lence.  The  clergyman,  who  could  not  hitherto  have 
ejected  the  usurper  of  his  pulpit  otherwise  than  by 
bodily  force,  now  addressed  her  in  the  tone  of  just  in 
dignation  and  legitimate  authority. 

"'  Get  you  down,  woman,  from  the  holy  place  which 
you  profane."  he  said.  "Is  it  to  the  Lord's  house 
that  you  come  to  pour  forth  the  foulness  of  your  heart 
and  the  inspiration  of  the  devil  ?  Get  you  down, 
and  remember  that  the  sentence  of  death  is  on  you ; 
yea,  and  shall  be  executed,  were  it  but  for  this  day's 
work ! " 

"  I  go,  friend.  I  go,  for  the  voice  hath  had  its  utter 
ance,"  replied  she,  in  a  depressed  and  even  mild  tone. 
u  I  have  done  my  mission  unto  thee  and  to  thy  people. 
Reward  me  with  stripes,  imprisonment,  or  death,  as  ye 
shall  be  permitted."' 

The  weakness  of  exhausted  passion  caused  her  steps 
to  totter  as  she  descended  the  pulpit  stairs.  The  peo- 


102  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pie,  in  the  mean  while,  were  stirring  to  and  fro  on  the 
floor  of  the  house,  whispering  among  themselves,  and 
glancing  towards  the  intruder.  Many  of  them  now 
recognized  her  as  the  woman  who  had  assaulted  the 
Governor  with  frightful  language  as  he  passed  by  the 
window  of  her  prison ;  they  knew,  also,  that  she  was 
adjudged  to  suffer  death,  and  had  been  preserved  only 
by  an  involuntary  banishment  into  the  wilderness. 
The  new  outrage,  by  which  she  had  provoked  her  fate, 
seemed  to  render  further  lenity  impossible  ;  and  a  gen 
tleman  in  military  dress,  with  a  stout  man  of  inferior 
rank,  drew  towards  the  door  of  the  meeting-house,  and 
awaited  her  approach. 

Scarcely  did  her  feet  press  the  floor,  however,  when 
an  unexpected  scene  occurred.  In  that  moment  of 
her  peril,  when  every  eye  frowned  with  death,  a  little 
timid  boy  pressed  forth,  and  threw  his  arms  round  his 
mother. 

"  I  am  here,  mother ;  it  is  I,  and  I  will  go  with  thee 
to  prison,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  doubtful  and  almost  fright 
ened  expression,  for  she  knew  that  the  boy  had  been 
cast  out  to  perish,  and  she  had  not  hoped  to  see  his 
face  again.  She  feared,  perhaps,  that  it  was  but  one 
of  the  happy  visions  with  which  her  excited  fancy  had 
often  deceived  her,  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert  or  in 
prison.  But  when  she  felt  his  hand  warm  within  her 
own,  and  heard  his  little  eloquence  of  childish  love, 
she  began  to  know  that  she  was  yet  a  mother. 

"  Blessed  art  thou,  my  son,"  she  sobbed.  "  My  heart 
was  withered  ;  yea,  dead  with  thee  and  with  thy  father ; 
and  now  it  leaps  as  in  the  first  moment  when  I  pressed 
thee  to  my  bosom."  . v<. 

She  knelt  down  and  embraced  him  again  and  again, 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  103 

«vhile  the  joy  that  could  find  no  words  expressed  itself 
in  broken  accents,  like  the  bubbles  gushing  up  to  van 
ish  at  the  surface  of  a  deep  fountain.  The  sorrows  of 
past  years,  and  the  darker  peril  that  was  nigh,  cast 
not  a  shadow  on  the  brightness  of  that  fleeting  mo 
ment.  Soon,  however,  the  spectators  saw  a  change 
upon  her  face,  as  the  consciousness  of  her  sad  estate 
returned,  and  grief  supplied  the  fount  of  tears  which 
joy  had  opened.  By  the  words  she  uttered,  it  would 
seem  that  the  indulgence  of  natural  love  had  given  her 
mind  a  momentary  sense  of  its  errors,  and  made  her 
know  how  far  she  had  strayed  from  duty  in  following 
the  dictates  of  a  wild  fanaticism. 

"  In  a  doleful  hour  art  thou  returned  to  me,  poor 
boy,"  she  said,  "  for  thy  mother's  path  has  gone  dark 
ening  onward,  till  now  the  end  is  death.  Son,  son,  I 
have  borne  thee  in  my  arms  when  my  limbs  were  tot 
tering,  and  I  have  fed  thee  with  the  food  that  I  was 
fainting  for ;  yet  I  have  ill  performed  a  mother's  part 
by  thee  in  life,  and  now  I  leave  thee  no  inheritance  but 
woe  and  shame.  Thou  wilt  go  seeking  through  the 
world,  and  find  all  hearts  closed  against  thee  and  their 
sweet  affections  turned  to  bitterness  for  my  sake.  My 
child,  my  child,  how  many  a  pang  awaits  thy  gentle 
spirit,  and  I  the  cause  of  all ! ' 

She  hid  her  face  on  Ilbrahim's  head,  and  her  long, 
raven  hair,  discolored  with  the  ashes  of  her  mourning, 
fell  down  about  him  like  a  veil.  A  low  and  inter 
rupted  moan  was  the  voice  of  her  heart's  anguish,  and 
it  did  not  fail  to  move  the  sympathies  of  many  who 
mistook  their  involuntary  virtue  for  a  sin.  Sobs  were 
audible  in  the  female  section  of  the  house,  and  every 
man  who  was  a  father  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 
Tobias  Pearson  was  agitated  and  uneasy,  but  a  certain 


104  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

feeling  like  the  consciousness  of  guilt  oppressed  him, 
so  that  he  could  not  go  forth  and  offer  himself  as  the 
protector  of  the  child.  Dorothy,  however,  had  watched 
her  husband's  eye.  Her  mind  was  free  from  the  in 
fluence  that  had  begun  to  work  on  his,  and  she  drew 
near  the  Quaker  woman,  and  addressed  her  in  the 
hearing  of  all  the  congregation. 

"  Stranger,  trust  this  boy  to  me,  and  I  will  be  his 
mother,"  she  said,  taking  Ilbrahim's  hand.  "Provi 
dence  has  signally  marked  out  my  husband  to  protect 
him,  and  he  has  fed  at  our  table  and  lodged  under 
our  roof  now  many  days,  till  our  hearts  have  grown 
very  strongly  unto  him.  Leave  the  tender  child  with 
us,  and  be  at  ease  concerning  his  welfare." 

The  Quaker  rose  from  the  ground,  but  drew  the  boy 
closer  to  her,  while  she  gazed  earnestly  in  Dorothy's 
face.  Her  mild  but  saddened  features,  and  neat  ma 
tronly  attire,  harmonized  together,  and  were  like  a 
verse  of  fireside  poetry.  Her  very  aspect  proved  that 
she  was  blameless,  so  far  as  mortal  could  be  so,  in  re 
spect  to  God  and  man ;  while  the  enthusiast,  in  her 
robe  of  sackcloth  and  girdle  of  knotted  cord,  had  as 
evidently  violated  the  duties  of  the  present  life  and 
the  future,  by  fixing  her  attention  wholly  on  the  latter. 
The  two  females,  as  they  held  each  a  hand  of  Ilbrahim, 
formed  a  practical  allegory ;  it  was  rational  piety  and 
unbridled  fanaticism  contending  for  the  empire  of  a 
young  heart. 

"Thou  art  not  of  our  people,"  said  the  Quaker, 
mournfully. 

"  No,  we  are  not  of  your  people,"  replied  Dorothy, 
with  mildness,  "  but  we  are  Christians,  looking  up 
ward  to  the  same  heaven  with  you.  Doubt  not  that 
your  boy  shall  meet  you  there,  if  there  be  a  blessing 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  105 

on  our  tender  and  prayerful  guidance  of  him.  Thither, 
I  trust,  my  own  children  have  gone  before  me,  for  I 
also  have  been  a  mother ;  I  am  no  longer  so,"  she 
added,  in  a  faltering  tone,  "  and  your  son  will  have  all 


my  care." 


"  But  will  ye  lead  him  in  the  path  which  his  parents 
have  trodden  ? "  demanded  the  Quaker.  "  Can  ye 
teach  him  the  enlightened  faith  which  his  father  has 
died  for,  and  for  which  I,  even  I,  am  soon  to  become 
an  unworthy  martyr  ?  The  boy  has  been  baptized  in 
blood ;  will  ye  keep  the  mark  fresh  and  ruddy  upon 
his  forehead  ?  " 

4*  I  will  not  deceive  you,"  answered  Dorothy.  "  If 
your  child  become  our  child,  we  must  breed  him  up  in 
the  instruction  which  Heaven  has  imparted  to  us :  we 
must  pray  for  him  the  prayers  of  our  own  faith ;  we 
must  do  towards  him  according  to  the  dictates  of  our 
own  consciences,  and  not  of  yours.  AVere  we  to  act 
otherwise,  we  should  abuse  your  trust,  even  in  comply 
ing  with  your  wishes." 

The  mother  looked  down  upon  her  boy  with  a 
troubled  countenance,  and  then  turned  her  eyes  up 
ward  to  heaven.  She  seemed  to  pray  internally,  and 
the  contention  of  her  soul  was  evident. 

"  Friend,"  she  said  at  length  to  Dorothy,  u  I  doubt 
not  that  my  son  shall  receive  all  earthly  tenderness  at 
thy  hands.  Nay,  I  will  believe  that  even  thy  imper 
fect  lights  may  guide  him  to  a  better  world,  for  surely 
thou  art  on  the  path  thither.  But  thou  hast  spoken 
of  a  husband.  Doth  he  stand  here  among  this  mul 
titude  of  people?  Let  him  come  forth,  for  I  must 
know  to  whom  I  commit  this  most  precious  trust." 

She  turned  her  face  upon  the  male  auditors,  and 
after  a  momentary  delay,  Tobias  Pearson  came  forth 


106  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

from  among  them.  The  Quaker  saw  the  dress  which 
marked  his  military  rank,  and  shook  her  head ;  but 
then  she  noted  the  hesitating  air,  the  eyes  that  strug 
gled  with  her  own,  and  were  vanquished;  the  color 
that  went  and  came,  and  could  find  no  resting-place. 
As  she  gazed,  an  unmirthful  smile  spread  over  her 
features,  like  sunshine  that  grows  melancholy  in  some 
desolate  spot.  Her  lips  moved  inaudibly,  but  at  length 
she  spake. 

"I  hear  it,  I  hear  it.  The  voice  speaketh  within 
me  and  saith,  'Leave  thy  child,  Catharine,  for  his 
place  is  here,  and  go  hence,  for  I  have  other  work  for 
thee.  Break  the  bonds  of  natural  affection,  martyr 
thy  love,  and  know  that  in  all  these  things  eternal 
wisdom  hath  its  ends.'  I  go,  friends ;  I  go.  Take  ye 
my  boy,  my  precious  jewel.  I  go  hence,  trusting  that 
all  shall  be  well,  and  that  even  for  his  infant  hands 
there  is  a  labor  in  the  vineyard." 

She  knelt  down  and  whispered  to  Ilbrahim,  who  at 
first  struggled  and  clung  to  his  mother,  with  sobs  and 
tears,  but  remained  passive  when  she  had  kissed  his 
cheek  and  arisen  from  the  ground.  Having  held  her 
hands  over  his  head  in  mental  prayer,  she  was  ready 
to  depart. 

"  Farewell.,  friends  in  mine  extremity,"  she  said  to 
Pearson  and  his  wife ;  "  the  good  deed  ye  have  done 
me  is  a  treasure  laid  up  in  heaven,  to  be  returned  a 
thousand-fold  hereafter.  And  farewell  ye,  mine  ene 
mies,  to  whom  it  is  not  permitted  to  harm  so  much  as 
a  hair  of  my  head,  nor  to  stay  my  footsteps  even  for 
a  moment.  The  day  is  coming  when  ye  shall  call 
upon  me  to  witness  for  ye  to  this  one  sin  uncommitted, 
and  I  will  rise  up  and  answer." 

She  turned  her  steps  towards  the  door,  and  the 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  107 

who  had  stationed  themselves  to  guard  it,  withdrew, 
and  suffered  her  to  pass.  A  general  sentiment  of  pity 
overcame  the  virulence  of  religious  hatred.  Sancti 
fied  by  her  love  and  her  affliction,  she  went  forth,  and 
all  the  people  gazed  after  her  till  she  had  journeyed 
up  the  hill,  and  was  lost  behind  its  brow.  She  went, 
the  apostle  of  her  own  unquiet  heart,  to  renew  the 
wanderings  of  past  }Tears.  For  her  voice  had  been 
already  heard  in  many  lands  of  Christendom ;  and  she 
had  pined  in  the  cells  of  a  Catholic  Inquisition  before 
she  felt  the  lash  and  lay  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Puri 
tans.  Her  mission  had  extended  also  to  the  followers 
of  the  Prophet,  and  from  them  she  had  received  the 
courtesy  and  kindness  which  all  the  contending  sects 
of  our  purer  religion  united  to  deny  her.  Her  hus 
band  and  herself  had  resided  many  months  in  Turkey, 
where  even  the  Sultan's  countenance  was  gracious  to 
them ;  in  that  pagan  land,  too,  was  Ilbrahinvs  birth 
place,  and  his  oriental  name  was  a  mark  of  gratitude 
for  the  good  deeds  of  an  unbeliever. 

When  Pearson  and  his  wife  had  thus  acquired  all 
the  rights  over  Ilbrahim  that  coidd  be  delegated,  their 
affection  for  him  became  like  the  memory  of  their 
native  land,  or  their  mild  sorrow  for  the  dead,  a  piece 
of  the  immovable  furniture  of  their  hearts.  The  boy, 
also,  after  a  week  or  two  of  mental  disquiet,  began  to 
gratify  his  protectors  by  many  inadvertent  proofs  that 
he  considered  them  as  parents,  and  their  house  as 
home.  Before  the  winter  snows  were  melted,  the  per 
secuted  infant,  the  little  wanderer  from  a  remote  and 
heathen  country,  seemed  native  in  the  New  England 
pottage,  and  inseparable  from  the  warmth  and  security 
of  its  hearth.  Under  the  influence  of  kind  treatment, 


108  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

and  in  the  consciousness  that  he  was  loved,  Ilbrahim's 
demeanor  lost  a  premature  manliness,  which  had  re 
sulted  from  his  earlier  situation;  he  became  more 
childlike,  and  his  natural  character  displayed  itself 
with  freedom.  It  was  in  many  respects  a  beautiful 
one,  yet  the  disordered  imaginations  of  both  his  father 
and  mother  had  perhaps  propagated  a  certain  un- 
healthiness  in  the  mind  of  the  boy.  In  his  genera] 
state,  Ilbrahim  would  derive  enjoyment  from  the  most 
trifling  events,  and  from  every  object  about  him  ;  he 
seemed  to  discover  rich  treasures  of  happiness,  by  a 
faculty  analogous  to  that  of  the  witch  hazel,  which 
points  to  hidden  gold  where  all  is  barren  to  the  eye. 
His  airy  gayety,  coming  to  him  from  a  thousand 
sources,  communicated  itself  to  the  family,  and  Ilbra 
him  was  like  a  domesticated  sunbeam,  brightening 
moody  countenances,  and  chasing  away  the  gloom 
from  the  dark  corners  of  the  cottage. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  susceptibility  of  pleasure 
is  also  that  of  pain,  the  exuberant  cheerfulness  of  the 
boy's  prevailing  temper  sometimes  yielded  to  moments 
of  deep  depression.  His  sorrows  could  not  always  be 
followed  up  to  their  original  source,  but  most  fre 
quently  they  appeared  to  flow,  though  Ilbrahim  was 
young  to  be  sad  for  such  a  cause,  from  wounded  love. 
The  flightiness  of  his  mirth  rendered  him  often  guilty 
of  offences  against  the  decorum  of  a  Puritan  house 
hold,  and  on  these  occasions  he  did  not  invariably 
escape  rebuke.  But  the  slightest  word  of  real  bitter 
ness,  which  he  was  infallible  in  distinguishing  from 
pretended  anger,  seemed  to  sink  into  his  heart  and 
poison  all  his  enjoyments,  till  he  became  sensible  thai 
he  was  entirely  forgiven.  Of  the  malice,  which  gen 
erally  accompanies  a  superfluity  of  sensitiveness,  libra 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  109 

him  was  altogether  destitute :  when  trodden  upon,  he 
would  not  turn;  when  wounded,  he  could  but  die. 
His  mind  was  wanting  in  the  stamina  for  self-support ; 
it  was  a  plant  that  would  twine  beautifully  round 
something  stronger  than  itself,  but  if  repulsed,  or  torn 
away,  it  had  no  choice  but  to  wither  on  the  ground. 
Dorothy's  acuteness  taught  her  that  severity  would 
crush  the  spirit  of  the  child,  and  she  nurtured  him 
with  the  gentle  care  of  one  who  handles  a  butterfly. 
Her  husband  manifested  an  equal  affection,  although 
it  grew  daily  less  productive  of  familiar  caresses. 

The  feelings  of  the  neighboring  people,  in  regard  to 
the  Quaker  infant  and  his  protectors,  had  not  under 
gone  a  favorable  change,  in  spite  of  the  momentary 
triumph  which  the  desolate  mother  had  obtained  over 
their  sympathies.  The  scorn  and  bitterness,  of  which 
he  was  the  object,  were  very  grievous  to  Ilbrahim,  es 
pecially  when  any  circumstance  made  him  sensible 
that  the  children,  his  equals  in  age,  partook  of  the 
enmity  of  their  parents.  His  tender  and  social  nature 
had  already  overflowed  in  attachments  to  everything 
about  him.,  and  still  there  was  a  residue  of  unappro 
priated  love,  which  he  yearned  to  bestow  upon  the 
little  ones  who  were  taught  to  hate  him.  As  the  warm 
days  of  spring  came  on,  Ilbrahim  was  accustomed  to 
remain  for  hours,  silent  and  inactive,  within  hearing 
of  the  children's  voices  at  their  play  ;  yet,  with  his 
usual  delicacy  of  feeling,  he  avoided  their  notice,  and 
would  flee  and  hide  himself  from  the  smallest  individ 
ual  among  them.  Chance,  however,  at  length  seemed 
to  open  a  medium  of  communication  between  his  heart 
and  theirs  ;  it  was  by  means  of  a  boy  about  two  years 
older  than  Ilbrahim,  who  was  injured  by  a  fall  from 
A  tree  in  the  vicinity  of  Pearson's  habitation.  As  the 


110  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

sufferer's  own  home  was  at  some  distance,  Dorothy 
willingly  received  him  under  her  roof,  and  became  his 
tender  and  careful  nurse. 

Ilbrahim  was  the  unconscious  possessor  of  much 
skill  in  physiognomy,  and  it  would  have  deterred  him, 
in  other  circumstances,  from  attempting  to  make  a 
friend  of  this  boy.  The  countenance  of  the  latter  im 
mediately  impressed  a  beholder  disagreeably,  but  it 
required  some  examination  to  discover  that  the  cause 
was  a  very  slight  distortion  of  the  mouth,  and  the  ir 
regular,  broken  line,  and  near  approach  of  the  eye 
brows.  Analogous,  perhaps,  to  these  trifling  deformi 
ties,  was  an  almost  imperceptible  twist  of  every  joint, 
and  the  uneven  prominence  of  the  breast :  forming  a 
body,  regular  in  its  general  outline,  but  faulty  in  al 
most  all  its  details.  The  disposition  of  the  boy  was 
sullen  and  reserved,  and  the  village  schoolmaster  stig 
matized  him  as  obtuse  in  intellect ;  although,  at  a 
later  period  of  life,  he  evinced  ambition  and  very  pe 
culiar  talents.  But  whatever  might  be  his  personal 
or  moral  irregularities,  Ilbrahim's  heart  seized  upon, 
and  clung  to  him,  from  the  moment  that  he  was 
brought  wounded  into  the  cottage  ;  the  child  of  perse 
cution  seemed  to  compare  his  own  fate  with  that  of 
the  sufferer,  and  to  feel  that  even  different  modes  of 
misfortune  had  created  a  sort  of  relationship  between 
them.  Food,  rest,  and  the  fresh  air,  for  which  he  lan 
guished,  were  neglected  ;  he  nestled  continually  by  the 
bedside  of  the  little  stranger,  and,  with  a  fond  jeal 
ousy,  endeavored  to  be  the  medium  of  all  the  cares 
that  were  bestowed  upon  him.  As  the  boy  became 
convalescent,  Ilbrahim  contrived  games  suitable  to 
his  situation,  or  amused  him  by  a  faculty  which  he 
had  perhaps  breathed  in  with  the  air  of  his  barbaric 


THE   GEXTLE   BOY.  Ill 

birthplace.  It  was  that  of  reciting  imaginary  ad  ven 
tures,  T>n  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  apparently  in 
inexhaustible  succession.  His  tales  were  of  course 
monstrous,  disjointed,  and  without  aim  ;  but  they  were 
curious  on  account  of  a  vein  of  human  tenderness 
which  ran  through  them  all,  and  was  like  a  sweet, 
familiar  face,  encountered  in  the  midst  of  wild  and 
unearthly  scenery.  The  auditor  paid  much  attention 
to  these  romances,  and  sometimes  interrupted  them  by 
brief  remarks  upon  the  incidents,  displaying  shrewd 
ness  above  his  years,  mingled  with  a  moral  obliquity 
which  grated  very  harshly  against  Ilbrahinr  s  instinc 
tive  rectitude.  Nothing,  however,  coidd  arrest  the 
progress  of  the  latter 's  affection,  and  there  were  many 
proofs  that  it  met  with  a  response  from  the  dark  and 
stubborn  nature  on  which  it  was  lavished.  The  boy's 
parents  at  length  removed  him,  to  complete  his  cure 
under  their  own  roof. 

Ilbrahim  did  not  visit  lu's  new  friend  after  his  de 
parture  ;  but  he  made  anxious  and  continual  inquiries 
respecting  him,  and  informed  himself  of  the  day  when 
he  was  to  reappear  among  his  playmates.  On  a  pleas 
ant  summer  afternoon,  the  children  of  the  neighbor 
hood  had  assembled  in  the  little  forest-crowned  amphi 
theatre  behind  the  meeting-house,  and  the  recovering 
invalid  was  there,  leaning  on  a  staff.  The  glee  of  a 
score  of  untainted  bosoms  was  heard  in  light  and  airy 
voices,  which  danced  among  the  trees  like  sunshine 
become  audible  ;  the  grown  men  of  this  weary  world, 
as  they  journeyed  by  the  spot,  marvelled  why  life,  be 
ginning  in  such  brightness,  should  proceed  in  gloom  ; 
and  their  hearts,  or  their  imaginations,  answered  them 
and  said,  that  the  bliss  of  childhood  giishes  from  its 
innocence.  But  it  happened  that  an  unexpected  addi- 


112  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

tion  was  made  to  the  heavenly  little  band.  It  was 
Ilbrahim,  who  came  towards  the  children  with-a  look 
of  sweet  confidence  on  his  fair  and  spiritual  face,  as 
if,  having  manifested  his  love  to  one  of  them,  he  had 
no  longer  to  fear  a  repulse  from  their  society.  A 
hush  came  over  their  mirth  the  moment  they  beheld 
him,  and  they  stood  whispering  to  each  other  while  he 
drew  nigh  ;  but,  all  at  once,  the  devil  of  their  fathers 
entered  into  the  unbreeched  fanatics,  and  sending  up 
a  fierce,  shrill  cry,  they  rushed  upon  the  poor  Quaker 
child.  In  an  instant,  he  was  the  centre  of  a  brood  of 
baby-fiends,  who  lifted  sticks  against  him,  pelted  him 
with  stones,  and  displayed  an  instinct  of  destruction 
far  more  loathsome  than  the  bloodthirstiness  of  man 
hood. 

The  invalid,  in  the  meanwhile,  stood  apart  from  the 
tumult,  crying  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Fear  not,  Ilbra 
him,  come  hither  and  take  my  hand ;  "  and  his  un 
happy  friend  endeavored  to  obey  him.  After  watch 
ing  the  victim's  struggling  approach  with  a  calm  smile 
and  unabashed  eye,  the  foul-hearted  little  villain  lifted 
his  staff  and  struck  Ilbrahim  on  the  mouth,  so  forci 
bly  that  the  blood  issued  in  a  stream.  The  poor  child's 
arms  had  been  raised  to  guard  his  head  from  the  storm 
of  blows  ;  but  now  he  dropped  them  at  once.  His  per 
secutors  beat  him  down,  trampled  upon  him,  dragged 
him  by  his  long,  fair  locks,  and  Ilbrahim  was  on  the 
point  of  becoming  as  veritable  a  martyr  as  ever  en 
tered  bleeding  into  heaven.  The  uproar,  however, 
attracted  the  notice  of  a  few  neighbors,  who  put  them 
selves  to  the  trouble  of  rescuing  the  little  heretic,  and 
of  conveying  him  to  Pearson's  door. 

Ilbrahim' s  bodily  harm  was  severe,  but  long^  and 
careful  nursing  accomplished  his  recovery ;  the  injury 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  113 

done  to  his  sensitive  spirit  was  more  serious,  though 
not  so  visible.  Its  signs  were  principally  of  a  negative 
character,  and  to  be  discovered  only  by  those  who  had 
previously  known  him.  His  gait  was  thenceforth  slow, 
even,  and  unvaried  by  the  sudden  bursts  of  sprightlier 
motion,  which  had  once  corresponded  to  his  overflow 
ing  gladness ;  his  countenance  was  heavier,  and  its 
former  play  of  expression,  the  dance  of  sunshine  re 
flected  from  moving  water,  was  destroyed  by  the  cloud 
over  his  existence ;  his  notice  was  attracted  in  a  far 
less  degree  by  passing  events,  and  he  appeared  to  find 
greater  difficulty  in  comprehending  what  was  new  to 
him  than  at  a  happier  period.  A  stranger,  founding 
his  judgment  upon  these  circumstances,  would  have 
said  that  the  dulness  of  the  child's  intellect  widely 
contradicted  the  promise  of  his  features ;  but  the  secret 
was  in  the  direction  of  Ilbrahim's  thoughts,  which 

O 

were  brooding  within  him  when  they  should  naturally 
have  been  wandering  abroad.  An  attempt  of  Dorothy 
to  revive  his  former  sportiveness  was  the  single  occa 
sion  on  which  his  quiet  demeanor  yielded  to  a  violent 
display  of  grief ;  he  burst  into  passionate  weeping,  and 
ran  and  hid  himself,  for  his  heart  had  become  so  mis 
erably  sore  that  even  the  hand  of  kindness  tortured 
it  like  fire.  Sometimes,  at  night  and  probably  in  his 
dreams,  he  was  heard  to  cry  fci  Mother !  Mother !  "  as 
if  her  place,  which  a  stranger  had  supplied  while  II- 
brahim  was  happy,  admitted  of  no  substitute  in  his  ex 
treme  affliction.  Perhaps,  among  the  many  life-weary 
wretches  then  upon  the  earth,  there  was  not  one  who 
combined  innocence  and  misery  like  this  poor,  broken 
hearted  infant,  so  soon  the  victim  of  his  own  heavenly 
nature. 

"While  this  melancholy  change  had  taken  place  in 

VOL.    I.  8 


114  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Ilbrahim,  one  of  an  earlier  origin  and  of  different 
character  had  come  to  its  perfection  in  his  adopted 
father.  The  incident  with  which  this  tale  commences 
found  Pearson  in  a  state  of  religious  dulness,  yet  men 
tally  disquieted,  and  longing  for  a  more  fervid  faith 
than  he  possessed.  The  first  effect  of  his  kindness  to 
Ilbrahim  was  to  produce  a  softened  feeling,  and  incip 
ient  love  for  the  child's  whole  sect;  but  joined  to  this, 
and  resulting  perhaps  from  self-suspicion,  was  a  proud 
and  ostentatious  contempt  of  all  their  tenets  and  prac 
tical  extravagances.  In  the  course  of  much  thought, 
however,  for  the  subject  struggled  irresistibly  into^his 
mind,  the  foolishness  of  the  doctrine  began  to  be  less 
evident,  and  the  points  which  had  particularly  offended 
his  reason  assumed  another  aspect,  or  vanished  entirely 
away.  The  work  within  him  appeared  to  go  on  even 
while  he  slept,  and  that  which  had  been  a  doubt,  when 
he  laid  down  to  rest,  would  often  hold  the  place  of 
a  truth,  confirmed  by  some  forgotten  demonstration, 
when  he  recalled  his  thoughts  in  the  morning.  But 
while  he  was  thus  becoming  assimilated  to  the  enthusi 
asts,  his  contempt,  in  nowise  decreasing  towards  them, 
grew  very  fierce  against  himself ;  he  imagined,  also, 
that  every  face  of  his  acquaintance  wore  a  sneer,  and 
that  every  word  addressed  to  him  was  a  gibe.  Such 
was  his  state  of  mind  at  the  period  of  Ilbrahim' s  mis 
fortune  ;  and  the  emotions  consequent  upon  that  event 
completed  the  change,  of  which  the  child  had  been  the 
original  instrument. 

In  the  mean  time,  neither  the  fierceness  of  the  per 
secutors,  nor  the  infatuation  of  their  victims,  had  de 
creased.  The  dungeons  were  never  empty ;  the  streets 
of  almost  every  village  echoed  daily  with  the  lash ;,  the 
life  of  a  woman,  whose  mild  and  Christian  spirit  n« 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  115 

cruelty  could  embitter,  had  been  sacrificed ;  and  more 
innocent  blood  was  vet  to  pollute  the  hands  that  were 
so  often  raised  in  prayer.  Early  after  the  Restoration, 
the  English  Quakers  represented  to  Charles  II.  that 
a  "vein  of  blood  was  open  in  his  dominions;"  but 
though  the  displeasure  of  the  voluptuous  king  was 
roused,  his  interference  was  not  prompt.  And  now 
the  tale  must  stride  forward  over  many  months,  leav 
ing  Pearson  to  encounter  ignominy  and  misfortune ; 
his  wife  to  a  firm  endurance  of  a  thousand  sorrows ; 
poor  Ilbrahim  to  pine  and  droop  like  a  cankered  rose 
bud  ;  his  mother  to  wander  on  a  mistaken  errand,  neg 
lectful  of  the  holiest  trust  which  can  be  committed  to 
a  woman. 

A  winter  evening,  a  night  of  storm,  had  darkened 
over  Pearson's  habitation,  and  there  were  no  cheerful 
faces  to  drive  the  gloom  from  his  broad  hearth.  The 
fire,  it  is  true,  sent  forth  a  glowing  heat  and  a  ruddy 
light,  and  large  logs,  dripping  with  half -melted  snow, 
lay  ready  to  be  cast  upon  the  embers.  But  the  apart 
ment  was  saddened  in  its  aspect  by  the  absence  of 
much  of  the  homely  wealth  which  had  once  adorned 
it;  for  the  exaction  of  repeated  fines,  and  his  own 
neglect  of  temporal  affairs,  had  greatly  impoverished 
the  owner.  And  with  the  furniture  of  peace,  the  im 
plements  of  war  had  likewise  disappeared ;  the  sword 
was  broken,  the  helm  and  cuirass  were  cast  away  for 
ever  ;  the  soldier  had  done  with  battles,  and  might  not 
lift  so  much  as  his  naked  hand  to  guard  his  head. 
But  the  Holy  Book  remained,  and  the  table  on  which 
it  rested  was  drawn  before  the  fire,  while  two  of  the 
persecuted  sect  sought  comfort  from  its  pages. 

He  who   listened,  while   the   other  read,  was   the 


116  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

master  of  the  house,  now  emaciated  in  form,  and  al 
tered  as  to  the  expression  and  healthiness  of  his  coun 
tenance  ;  for  his  mind  had  dwelt  too  long  among 
visionary  thoughts,  and  his  body  had  been  worn  by 
imprisonment  and  stripes.  The  hale  and  weather- 
beaten  old  man  who  sat  beside  him  had  sustained  less 
injury  from  a  far  longer  course  of  the  same  mode  of 
life.  In  person  he  was  tall  and  dignified,  and,  which 
alone  would  have  made  him  hateful  to  the  Puritans, 
his  gray  locks  fell  from  beneath  the  broad-brimmed 
hat,  and  rested  on  his  shoulders.  As  the  old  man  read 
the  sacred  page  the  snow  drifted  against  the  windows, 
or  eddied  in  at  the  crevices  of  the  door,  while  a  blast 
kept  laughing  in  the  chimney,  and  the  blaze  leaped 
fiercely  up  to  seek  it.  And  sometimes,  when  the  wind 
struck  the  hill  at  a  certain  angle,  and  swept  down  by 
the  cottage  across  the  wintry  plain,  its  voice  was  the 
most  doleful  that  can  be  conceived ;  it  came  as  if  the 
Past  were  speaking,  as  if  the  Dead  had  contributed 
each  a  whisper,  as  if  the  Desolation  of  Ages  were 
breathed  in  that  one  lamenting  sound. 

The  Quaker  at  length  closed  the  book,  retaining 
however  his  hand  between  the  pages  which  he  had 
been  reading,  while  he  looked  steadfastly  at  Pearson. 
The  attitude  and  features  of  the  latter  might  have 
indicated  the  endurance  of  bodily  pain  ;  he  leaned 
his  forehead  on  his  hands,  his  teeth  were  firmly  closed, 
and  his  frame  was  tremulous  at  intervals  with  a  ner 
vous  agitation. 

"Friend  Tobias,"  inquired  the  old  man,  compas 
sionately,  "  hast  thou  found  no  comfort  in  these  many 
blessed  passages  of  Scripture  ?  " 

"  Thy  voice  has  fallen  on  my  ear  like  a  sound,  afar 
off  and  indistinct,"  replied  Pearson  without  lifting  his 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  117 

eyes.  "Yea,  and  when  I  have  hearkened  carefully 
the  words  seemed  cold  and  lifeless,  and  intended  for 
another  and  a  lesser  grief  than  mine.  Remove  the 
book,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  sullen  bitterness.  "  I 
have  no  part  in  its  consolations,  and  they  do  but  fret 
my  sorrow  the  more." 

"  Nay,  feeble  brother,  be  not  as  one  who  hath  never 
known  the  light,"  said  the  elder  Quaker  earnestly, 
but  with  mildness.  "Art  thou  he  that  woiddst  be 
content  to  give  all,  and  endure  all,  for  conscience' 
sake  ;  desiring  even  peculiar  trials,  that  thy  faith 
might  be  purified  and  thy  heart  weaned  from  worldly 
desires?  And  wilt  thou  sink  beneath  an  affliction 
which  happens  alike  to  them  that  have  their  portion 
here  below,  and  to  them  that  lay  up  treasure  in 
heaven  ?  Faint  not,  for  thy  burden  is  yet  light." 

"It  is  heavy!  It  is  heavier  than  I  can  bear!"  ex 
claimed  Pearson,  with  the  impatience  of  a  variable 
spirit.  "  From  my  youth  upward  I  have  been  a  man 
marked  out  for  wrath;  and  year  by  year,  yea,  day 
after  day,  I  have  endured  sorrows  such  as  others 
know  not  in  their  lifetime.  And  now  I  speak  not  of 
the  love  that  has  been  turned  to  hatred,  the  honor  to 
ignominy,  the  ease  and  plentifidness  of  all  things  to 
clanger,  want,  and  nakedness.  All  this  I  could  have 
borne,  and  counted  myself  blessed.  But  when  my 
heart  was  desolate  with  many  losses  I  fixed  it  upon  the 
child  of  a  stranger,  and  he  became  dearer  to  me  than 
all  my  buried  ones :  and  now  he  too  must  die  as  if  my 
love  were  poison.  Verily,  I  am  an  accursed  man,  and 
I  will  lay  me  down  in  the  dust  and  lift  up  my  head 
no  more." 

"  Thou  sinnest,  brother,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  re 
buke  thee ;  for  I  also  have  had  my  hours  of  darkness, 


118  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

wherein  I  have  murmured  against  the  cross,"  said  the 
old  Quaker.  He  continued,  perhaps  in  the  hope  of 
distracting  his  companion's  thoughts  from  his  own  sor 
rows.  "  Even  of  late  was  the  light  obscured  within 
me,  when  the  men  of  blood  had  banished  me  on  pain 
of  death,  and  the  constables  led  me  onward  from  vil 
lage  to  village  towards  the  wilderness.  A  strong  and 
cruel  hand  was  wielding  the  knotted  cords ;  they  sunk 
deep  into  the  flesh,  and  thou  mightst  have  tracked 
every  reel  and  totter  of  my  footsteps  by  the  blood  that 
followed.  As  we  went  on" — 

"Have  I  not  borne  all  this;  and  have  I  mur 
mured  ?  "  interrupted  Pearson  impatiently. 

"  Nay,  friend,  but  hear  me,"  continued  the  other. 
"  As  we  journeyed  on,  night  darkened  on  our  path,  so 
that  no  man  could  see  the  rage  of  the  persecutors  or 
the  constancy  t)f  my  endurance,  though  Heaven  for 
bid  that  I  should  glory  therein.  The  lights  began  to 
glimmer  in  the  cottage  windows,  and  I  could  discern 
the  inmates  as  they  gathered  in  comfort  and  security, 
every  man  with  his  wife  and  children  by  their  own 
evening  hearth.  At  length  we  came  to  a  tract  of  fer 
tile  land  ;  in  the  dim  light,  the  forest  was  not  visible 
around  it ;  and  behold !  there  was  a  straw-thatched 
dwelling,  which  bore  the  very  aspect  of  my  home,  far 
over  the  wild  ocean,  far  in  our  own  England.  Then 
came  bitter  thoughts  upon  me ;  yea,  remembrances 
that  were  like  death  to  my  soul.  The  happiness  of  my 
early  days  was  painted  to  me ;  the  disquiet  of  my  man 
hood,  the  altered  faith  of  my  declining  years.  I  re 
membered  how  I  had  been  moved  to  go  forth  a  wan 
derer  when  my  daughter,  the  youngest,  the  dearest  oi 
my  flock,  lay  on  her  dying  bed,  and  "  —  ._/4.. 

"  Couldst  thou  obey  the  command  at  such  a  mo» 
ment  ?  "  exclaimed  Pearson,  shuddering. 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  119 

"  Yea,  yea,"  replied  the  old  man  hurriedly.  "  I  was 
kneeling  by  her  bedside  when  the  voice  spoke  loud 
within  me  ;  but  immediately  I  rose,  and  took  my  staff, 
and  gat  me  gone.  Oh !  that  it  were  permitted  me  to 
forget  her  woful  look  when  I  thus  withdrew  my  arm, 
and  left  her  journeying  through  the  dark  valley  alone  ! 
for  her  soul  was  faint,  and  she  had  leaned  upon  my 
prayers.  Now  in  that  night  of  horror  I  was  assailed 
by  the  thought  that  I  had  been  an  erring  Christian 
and  a  cruel  parent;  yea,  even  my  daughter,  with  her 
pale,  dying  features,  seemed  to  stand  by  me  and  whis 
per,  4  Father,  you  are  deceived ;  go  home  and  shelter 
your  gray  head.'  O  Thou,  to  whom  I  have  looked  in 
my  farthest  wanderings,"  continued  the  Quaker,  rais 
ing  his  agitated  eyes  to  heaven,  "inflict  not  upon  the 
bloodiest  of  our  persecutors  the  unmitigated  agony  of 
my  soul,  when  I  believed  that  all  I  had  done  and  suf 
fered  for  Thee  was  at  the  instigation  of  a  mocking 
fiend  !  But  I  yielded  not ;  I  knelt  down  and  wrestled 
with  the  tempter,  while  the  scourge  bit  more  fiercely 
into  the  flesh.  My  prayer  was  heard,  and  I  went  on 
in  peace  and  joy  towards  the  wilderness." 

The  old  man,  though  his  fanaticism  had  generally 
all  the  calmness  of  reason,  was  deeply  moved  while 
reciting  this  tale  ;  and  his  unwonted  emotion  seemed 
to  rebuke  and  keep  down  that  of  his  companion. 
They  sat  in  silence,  with  their  faces  to  the  fire,  imag 
ining,  perhaps,  in  its  red  embers  new  scenes  of  perse 
cution  yet  to  be  encountered.  The  snow  still  drifted 
hard  against  the  windows,  and  sometimes,  as  the  blaze 
of  the  logs  had  gradually  sunk,  came  down  the  spa 
cious  chimney  and  hissed  upon  the  hearth.  A  cautious 
footstep  might  now  and  then  be  heard  in  a  neighbor 
ing  apartment,  and  the  sound  invariably  drew  the  eyes 


120  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  both  Quakers  to  the  door  which  led  thither.  When 
a  fierce  and  riotous  gust  of  wind  had  led  his  thoughts, 
by  a  natural  association,  to  homeless  travellers  on  such 
a  night,  Pearson  resumed  the  conversation. 

"  I  have  well-nigh  sunk  under  my  own  share  of  this 
trial,"  observed  he,  sighing  heavily;  "yet  I  would 
that  it  might  be  doubled  to  me,  if  so  the  child's 
mother  could  be  spared.  Her  wounds  have  been  deep 
and  many,  but  this  will  be  the  sorest  of  all." 

"  Fear  not  for  Catharine,"  replied  the  old  Quaker, 
"  for  I  know  that  valiant  woman,  and  have  seen  how 
she  can  bear  the  cross.  A  mother's  heart,  indeed,  is 
strong  in  her,  and  may  seem  to  contend  mightily  with 
her  faith ;  but  soon  she  will  stand  up  and  give  thanks 
that  her  son  has  been  thus  early  an  accepted  sacrifice. 
The  boy  hath  done  his  work,  and  she  will  feel  that 
he  is  taken  hence  in  kindness  both  to  him  and  her. 
Blessed,  blessed  are  they  that  with  so  little  suffering 
can  enter  into  peace  !  " 

The  fitful  rush  of  the  wind  was  now  disturbed  by  a 
portentous  sound  ;  it  was  a  quick  and  heavy  knocking 
at  the  outer  door.  Pearson's  wan  countenance  grew 
paler,  for  many  a  visit  of  persecution  had  taught  him 
what  to  dread  ;  the  old  man,  on  the  other  hand,  stood 
up  erect,  and  his  glance  was  firm  as  that  of  the  tried 
soldier  who  awaits  his  enemy. 

"  The  men  of  blood  have  come  to  seek  me,"  he  ob 
served  with  calmness.  "  They  have  heard  how  I  was 
moved  to  return  from  banishment ;  and  now  am  I  to 
be  led  to  prison,  and  thence  to  death.  It  is  an  end 
I  have  long  looked  for.  I  will  open  unto  them,  lest 
they  say,  '  Lo,  he  f eareth  !  ' 

"  Nay,  I  will  present  myself  before  them,"  said 
Pearson,  with  recovered  fortitude.  "  It  may  be  thai 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  121 

they  seek  rne  alone,  and  know  not  that  thou  abidest 
with  me." 

"  Let  us  go  boldly,  both  one  and  the  other,"  rejoined 
his  companion.  "  It  is  not  fitting  that  thou  or  I  shoidd 
shrink." 

They  therefore  proceeded  through  the  entry  to  the 
door,  which  they  opened,  bidding  the  applicant ;i  Come 
in,  in  God's  name  !  "  A  furious  blast  of  wind  drove 
the  storm  into  their  faces,  and  extinguished  the  lamp  ; 
they  had  barely  time  to  discern  a  figure,  so  white  from 
head  to  foot  with  the  drifted  snow  that  it  seemed  like 
Winter's  self,  come  in  human  shape,  to  seek  refuge 
from  its  own  desolation. 

"  Enter,  friend,  and  do  thy  errand,  be  it  what  it 
may,"  said  Pearson.  "It  must  needs  be  pressing, 
since  thou  comest  on  such  a  bitter  night." 

"  Peace  be  with  this  household,"  said  the  stranger, 
when  they  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  inner  apartment. 

Pearson  started,  the  elder  Quaker  stirred  the  slum 
bering  embers  of  the  fire  till  they  sent  up  a  clear  and 
lofty  blaze  ;  it  was  a  female  voice  that  had  spoken  ;  it 
was  a  female  form  that  shone  out,  cold  and  wintry,  in 
that  comfortable  light. 

"  Catharine,  blessed  woman !  "  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  "  art  thou  come  to  this  darkened  land  again  ?  art 
thou  come  to  bear  a  valiant  testimony  as  in  former 
years  ?  The  scourge  hath  not  prevailed  against  thee, 
and  from  the  dungeon  hast  thou  come  forth  triumph 
ant  ;  but  strengthen,  strengthen  now  thy  heart,  Cath 
arine,  for  Heaven  will  prove  thee  yet  this  once,  ere 
thou  go  to  thy  reward." 

"  Rejoice,  friends  !  "  she  replied.  u  Thou  who  hast 
long  been  of  our  people,  and  thou  whom  a  little  child 
Uath  led  to  us,  rejoice  !  Lo  !  I  come,  the  messenger 


122  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  glad  tidings,  for  the  day  of  persecution  is  overpast 
The  heart  of  the  king,  even  Charles,  hath  been  moved 
in  gentleness  towards  us,  and  he  hath  sent  forth  his 
letters  to  stay  the  hands  of  the  men  of  blood.  A  ship's 
company  of  our  friends  hath  arrived  at  yonder  town, 
and  I  also  sailed  joyfully  among  them." 

As  Catharine  spoke,  her  eyes  were  roaming  about 
the  room,  in  search  of  him  for  whose  sake  security 
was  dear  to  her.  Pearson  made  a  silent  appeal  to  the 
old  man,  nor  did  the  latter  shrink  from  the  painful 
task  assigned  him. 

"  Sister,"  he  began,  in  a  softened  yet  perfectly  calm 
tone,  "  thou  tellest  us  of  His  love,  manifested  in  tem 
poral  good ;  and  now  must  we  speak  to  thee  of  that 
selfsame  love,  displayed  in  chastenings.  Hitherto, 
Catharine,  thou  hast  been  as  one  journeying  in  a 
darksome  and  difficult  path,  and  leading  an  infant  by 
the  hand ;  fain  wouldst  thou  have  looked  heavenward 
continually,  but  still  the  cares  of  that  little  child  have 
drawn  thine  eyes  and  thy  affections  to  the  earth. 
Sister !  go  on  rejoicing,  for  his  tottering  footsteps 
shall  impede  thine  own  no  more." 

But  the  unhappy  mother  was  not  thus  to  be  con 
soled  ;  she  shook  like  a  leaf,  she  turned  white  as  the 
very  snow  that  hung  drifted  into  her  hair.  The  firm 
old  man  extended  his  hand  and  held  her  up,  keeping 
his  eye  upon  hers,  as  if  to  repress  any  outbreak  of 
passion. 

"  I  am  a  woman,  I  am  but  a  woman  ;  will  He  try 
me  above  my  strength?"  said  Catharine  very  quickly, 
and  almost  in  a  whisper.  "I  have  been  wounded 
sore :  I  have  suffered  much ;  many  things  in  the  body  •, 
many  in  the  mind ;  crucified  in  myself,  and  in  them 
that  were  dearest  to  me.  Surely,"  added  she,  with  a 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  123 

long  shudder,  "  He  hath  spared  me  in  this  one  thing." 
She  broke  forth  with  sudden  and  irrepressible  vio 
lence.  "  Tell  me,  man  of  cold  heart,  what  has  God 
done  to  me  ?  Hath  He  cast  me  down,  never  to  rise 
again  ?  Hath  He  crushed  my  very  heart  in  his  hand  ? 
And  thou,  to  whom  I  committed  my  child,  how  hast 
thou  fulfilled  thy  trust  ?  Give  me  back  the  boy,  well, 
sound,  alive,  alive ;  or  earth  and  Heaven  shall  avenge 
me!" 

The  agonized  shriek  of  Catharine  was  answered  by 
the  faint,  the  very  faint,  voice  of  a  child. 

On  this  day  it  had  become  evident  to  Pearson,  to 
his  aged  guest,  and  to  Dorothy,  that  Ilbrahim's  brief 
and  troubled  pilgrimage  drew  near  its  close.  The 
two  former  would  willingly  have  remained  by  him,  to 
make  use  of  the  prayers  and  pious  discourses  which 
they  deemed  appropriate  to  the  time,  and  which,  if 
they  be  impotent  as  to  the  departing  traveller's  recep 
tion  in  the  world  whither  it  goes,  may  at  least  sus 
tain  him  in  bidding  adieu  to  earth.  But  though  Ilbra- 
him  uttered  no  complaint,  he  was  disturbed  by  the 
faces  that  looked  upon  him  ;  so  that  Dorothy's  entrea 
ties,  and  their  own  conviction  that  the  child's  feet 
might  tread  heaven's  pavement  and  not  soil  it,  had 
induced  the  two  Quakers  to  remove.  Ilbrahim  then 
closed  his  eyes  and  grew  calm,  and,  except  for  now 
and  then  a  kind  and  low  word  to  his  nurse,  might 
have  been  thought  to  slumber.  As  nightfall  came 
on,  however,  and  the  storm  began  to  rise,  something 
seemed  to  trouble  t^£  repose  of  the  boy's  mind,  and 
to  render  his  sense  ($f  Bearing  active  and  acute.  If  a 
passing  wind  lingered  to  shake  the  casement,  he  strove 
to  turn  his  head  towards  it ;  if  the  door  jarred  to  and 
fro  upon  its  hinges,  he  looked  long  and  anxiously 


124  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

thitherward  ;  if  the  heavy  voice  of  the  old  man,  as  he 
read  the  Scriptures,  rose  but  a  little  higher,  the  child 
almost  held  his  dying  breath  to  listen  ;  if  a  snow-drift 
swept  by  the  cottage,  with  a  sound  like  the  trailing 
of  a  garment,  Ilbrahim  seemed  to  watch  that  some 
visitant  should  enter. 

But,  after  a  little  time,  he  relinquished  whatever 
secret  hope  had  agitated  him,  and  with  one  low,  com 
plaining  whisper,  turned  his  cheek  upon  the  pillow. 
He  then  addressed  Dorothy  with  his  usual  sweetness, 
and  besought  her  to  draw  near  him ;  she  did  so,  and 
Ilbrahim  took  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  grasping  it 
with  a  gentle  pressure,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  he 
retained  it.  At  intervals,  and  without  disturbing  the 
repose  of  his  countenance,  a  very  faint  trembling 
passed  over  him  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  a  mild  but 
somewhat  cool  wind  had  breathed  upon  him,  and 
made  him  shiver.  As  the  boy  thus  led  her  by  the 
hand,  in  his  quiet  progress  over  the  borders  of  eter 
nity,  Dorothy  almost  imagined  that  she  could  discern 
the  near,  though  dim,  delightfulness  of  the  home  he 
was  about  to  reach ;  she  would  not  have  enticed  the 
little  wanderer  back,  though  she  bemoaned  herself 
that  she  must  leave  him  and  return.  But  just  when 
Ilbrahim's  feet  were  pressing  on  the  soil  of  Paradise 
he  heard  a  voice  behind  him,  and  it  recalled  him  a  few, 
few  paces  of  the  weary  path  which  he  had  travelled. 
As  Dorothy  looked  upon  his  features,  she  perceived 
that  their  placid  expression  was  again  disturbed ;  her 
own  thoughts  had  been  so  wrapped  in  him,  that  all 
sounds  of  the  storm,  and  of  h—*a-m  speech,  were  lost 
to  her ;  but  when  Catharine's  shriek  pierced  through 
the  room,  the  boy  strove  to  raise  himself.  -./«. 

"  Friend,  she  is  come  !     Open  unto  her !  "  cried  he, 


THE   GENTLE  BOY.  125 

In  a  moment  his  mother  was  kneeling  by  the  bed 
side  ;  she  drew  Ilbrahim  to  her  bosom,  and  he  nestled 
there,  with  no  violence  of  joy,  but  contentedly,  as  if 
he  were  hushing  himself  to  sleep.  He  looked  into  her 
face,  and  reading  its  agony,  said,  with  feeble  earnest 
ness,  "  Mourn  not,  dearest  mother.  I  am  happy  now.'' 
And  with  these  words  the  gentle  boy  was  dead. 

The  king's  mandate  to  stay  the  Xew  England  per 
secutors  was  effectual  in  preventing  further  martyr 
doms  ;  but  the  colonial  authorities,  trusting  in  the 
remoteness  of  their  situation,  and  perhaps  in  the  sup 
posed  instability  of  the  royal  government,  shortly  re 
newed  their  severities  in  all  other  respects.  Catha 
rine's  fanaticism  had  become  wilder  by  the  sundering 
of  all  human  ties ;  and  wherever  a  scourge  was  lifted 
there  was  she  to  receive  the  blow ;  and  whenever  a 
dungeon  was  unbarred  thither  she  came,  to  cast  her 
self  upon  the  floor.  But  in  process  of  time  a  more 
Christian  spirit  —  a  spirit  of  forbearance,  though  not 
of  cordiality  or  approbation  —  began  to  pervade  the 
land  in  regard  to  the  persecuted  sect.  And  then, 
when  the  rigid  old  Pilgrims  eyed  her  rather  in  pity 
than  in  wrath ;  when  the  matrons  fed  her  with  the 
fragments  of  their  children's  food,  and  offered  her  a 
lodging  on  a  hard  and  lowly  bed ;  when  no  little  crowd 
of  schoolboys  left  their  sports  to  cast  stones  after  the 
roving  enthusiast ;  then  did  Catharine  return  to  Pear 
son's  dwelling  and  made  that  her  home. 

As  if  Ilbrahinvs  sweetness  yet  lingered  round  his 
ashes;  as  if  his  gentle  spirit  came  down  from  heaven 
to  teach  his  parent  a  true  religion,  her  fierce  and  vin 
dictive  nature  was  softened  by  the  same  griefs  which 
had  once  irritated  it.  When  the  course  of  years  had 


126  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

made  the  features  of  the  unobtrusive  mourner  familiar 
in  the  settlement,  she  became  a  subject  of  not  deep, 
but  general,  interest ;  a  being  on  whom  the  otherwise 
superfluous  sympathies  of  all  might  be  bestowed. 
Every  one  spoke  of  her  with  that  degree  of  pity 
which  it  is  pleasant  to  experience;  every  one  was 
ready  to  do  her  the  little  kindnesses  which  are  not 
costly,  yet  manifest  good  will ;  and  when  at  last  she 
died,  a  long  train  of  her  once  bitter  persecutors  fol 
lowed  her,  with  decent  sadness  and  tears  that  were 
not  painful,  to  her  place  by  Ilbrahim's  green  and 
sunken  grave. 


• 


MR.   HIGGIXBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE. 

A  YOUNG  fellow,  a  tobacco  pedlar  by  trade,  was  on 
his  way  from  Morristown,  where  he  had  dealt  largely 
with  the  Deacon  of  the  Shaker  settlement,  to  the 
village  of  Parker's  Falls,  on  Salmon  River.  He  had 
a  neat  little  cart,  painted  green,  with  a  box  of  cigars 
depicted  on  each  side  panel,  and  an  Indian  chief, 
holding  a  pipe  and  a  golden  tobacco  stalk,  on  the 
rear.  The  pedlar  drove  a  smart  little  mare,  and  was 
a  young  man  of  excellent  character,  keen  at  a  bargain, 
but  none  the  worse  liked  by  the  Yankees ;  who,  as  I 
have  heard  them  say,  would  rather  be  shaved  with  a 
sharp  razor  than  a  dull  one.  Especially  was  he  be 
loved  by  the  pretty  girls  along  the  Connecticut,  whose 
favor  he  used  to  court  by  presents  of  the  best  smok 
ing  tobacco  in  his  stock ;  knowing  well  that  the  coun 
try  lasses  of  New  England  are  generally  great  per 
formers  on  pipes.  Moreover,  as  will  be  seen  in  the 
course  of  my  story,  the  pedlar  was  inquisitive,  and 
something  of  a  tattler,  always  itching  to  hear  the 
news  and  anxious  to  tell  it  again. 

After  an  early  breakfast  at  Morristown,  the  tobacco 
pedlar,  whose  name  was  Dominicus  Pike,  had  trav 
elled  seven  miles  through  a  solitary  piece  of  woods, 
without  speaking  a  word  to  anybody  but  himself  and 
his  little  gray  mare.  It  being  nearly  seven  o'clock,  he 
was  as  eager  to  hold  a  morning  gossip  as  a  city  shop 
keeper  to  read  the  morning  paper.  An  opportunity 
seemed  at  hand  when,  after  lighting  a  cigar  with  a 


128  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

sun-glass,  he  looked  up,  and  perceived  a  man  coming 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  ped 
lar  had  stopped  his  green  cart.  Dominions  watched 
him  as  he  descended,  and  noticed  that  he  carried  a 
bundle  over  his  shoulder  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  and 
travelled  with  a  weary,  yet  determined  pace.  He  did 
not  look  as  if  he  had  started  in  the  freshness  of  the 
morning,  but  had  footed  it  all  night,  and  meant  to  do 
the  same  all  day. 

"  Good  morning,  mister,"  said  Dominicus,  when 
within  speaking  distance.  "  You  go  a  pretty  good 
jog.  What 's  the  latest  news  at  Parker's  Falls?  " 

The  man  pulled  the  broad  brim  of  a  gray  hat  over 
his  eyes,  and  answered,  rather  suddenly,  that  he  did 
not  come  Trom  Parker's  Falls,  which,  as  being  the 
limit  of  his  own  day's  journey,  the  pedlar  had  natu 
rally  mentioned  in  his  inquiry. 

"  Well  then,"  rejoined  Dominicus  Pike,  "  let 's  have 
the  latest  news  where  you  did  come  from.  I  'm  not 
particular  about  Parker's  Falls.  Any  place  will  an 
swer." 

Being  thus  importuned,  the  traveller  —  who  was  as 
ill  looking  a  fellow  as  one  would  desire  to  meet  in  a 
solitary  piece  of  woods  —  appeared  to  hesitate  a  little, 
as  if  he  was  either  searching  his  memory  for  news,  or 
weighing  the  expediency  of  telling  it.  At  last,  mount 
ing  on  the  step  of  the  cart,  he  whispered  in  the  ear  of 
Dominicus,  though  he  might  have  shouted  aloud  and 
no  other  mortal  would  have  heard  him. 

"  I  do  remember  one  little  trifle  of  news,"  said  he. 
"  Old  Mr.  Higginbotham,  of  Kimballton,  was  murdered 
in  his  orchard,  at  eight  o'clock  last  night,  by  an  Irish 
man  and  a  nigger.  They  strung  him  up  to  the  branch 
of  a  St.  Michael's  pear-tree,  where  nobody  would  find 
him  till  the  morning." 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE.     129 

As  soon  as  this  horrible  intelligence  was  commu 
nicated,  the  stranger  betook  himself  to  his  journey 
again,  with  more  speed  than  ever,  not  even  turning 
his  head  when  Dominions  invited  him  to  smoke  a 
Spanish  cigar  and  relate  all  the  particulars.  The  ped 
lar  whistled  to  his  mare  and  went  up  the  hill,  ponder 
ing  on  the  doleful  fate  of  Mr.  Higginbotham  whom  he 
had  known  in  the  way  of  trade,  having  sold  him  many 
a  bunch  of  long  nines,  and  a  great  deal  of  pigtail, 
lady's  twist,  and  fig  tobacco.  He  was  rather  astonished 
at  the  rapidity  with  which  the  news  had  spread.  Kim- 
ballton  was  nearly  sixty  miles  distant  in  a  straight  line ; 
the  murder  had  been  perpetrated  only  at  eight  o'clock 
the  preceding  night ;  yet  Dominicus  had  heard  of  it 
at  seven  in  the  morning,  when,  in  all  probability,  poor 
Mr.  Higginbotham's  own  family  had  but  just  discov 
ered  his  corpse,  hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's  pear- 
tree.  The  stranger  on  foot  must  have  worn  seven- 
league  boots  to  travel  at  such  a  rate. 

"  111  news  flies  fast,  they  say,"  thought  Dominicus 
Pike  ;  "  but  this  beats  railroads.  The  fellow  ought  to 
be  hired  to  go  express  with  the  President's  Message." 

The  difficulty  was  solved  by  supposing  that  the  nar 
rator  had  made  a  mistake  of  one  day  in  the  date  of 
the  occurrence  ;  so  that  our  friend  did  not  hesitate  to 
introduce  the  story  at  every  tavern  and  country  store 
along  the  road,  expending  a  whole  bunch  of  Spanish 
wrappers  among  at  least  twenty  horrified  audiences. 
He  found  himself  invariably  the  first  bearer  of  the  in 
telligence,  and  was  so  pestered  with  questions  that  he 
could  not  avoid  filling  up  the  outline,  till  it  became 
quite  a  respectable  narrative.  He  met  with  one  piece 
of  corroborative  evidence.  Mr.  Higginbotham  was  a 
trader ;  and  a  former  clerk  of  his,  to  whom  Dommicua 


VOL.    I. 


130  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

related  the  facts,  testified  that  the  old  gentleman  was 
accustomed  to  return  home  through  the  orchard  about 
nightfall,  with  the  money  and  valuable  papers  of  the 
store  in  his  pocket.  The  clerk  manifested  but  little 
grief  at  Mr.  Higginbotham's  catastrophe,  hinting, 
what  the  pedlar  had  discovered  in  his  own  dealings 
with  him,  that  he  was  a  crusty  old  fellow,  as  close  as 
a  vice.  His  property  would  descend  to  a  pretty  niece 
who  was  now  keeping  school  in  Kimballton. 

What  with  telling  the  news  for  the  public  good,  and 
driving  bargains  for  his  own,  Dominicus  was  so  much 
delayed  on  the  road  that  he  chose  to  put  up  at  a  tav 
ern,  about  five  miles  short  of  Parker's  Falls.  After 
supper,  lighting  one  of  his  prime  cigars,  he  seated  him 
self  in  the  bar-room,  and  went  through  the  story  of 
the  murder,  which  had  grown  so  fast  that  it  took  him 
half  an  hour  to  tell.  There  were  as  many  as  twenty 
people  in  the  room,  nineteen  of  whom  received  it  all 
for  gospel.  But  the  twentieth  was  an  elderly  farmer, 
who  had  arrived  on  horseback  a  short  time  before,  and 
was  now  seated  in  a  corner  smoking  his  pipe.  When 
the  story  was  concluded,  he  rose  up  very  deliberately, 
brought  his  chair  right  in  front  of  Dominicus,  and 
stared  him  full  in  the  face,  puffing  out  the  vilest  to 
bacco  smoke  the  pedlar  had  ever  smelt. 

"  Will  you  make  affidavit,"  demanded  he,  in  the 
tone  of  a  country  justice  taking  an  examination,  "  that 
old  Squire  Higginbotham  of  Kimballton  was  murdered 
in  his  orchard  the  night  before  last,  and  found  hang, 
ing  on  his  great  pear-tree  yesterday  morning?  " 

"  I  tell  the  story  as  I  heard  it,  mister,"  answered 
Dominicus,  dropping  his  half-burnt  cigar ;  "  I  don't 
say  that  I  saw  the  thing  done.  So  I  can't  take,  my 
oath  that  he  was  murdered  exactly  in  that  way." 


MR.   HIGGINBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE.    131 

"But  I  can  take  mine,"  said  the  farmer,  "that  if 
Squire  Higginbotham  was  murdered  night  before  last, 
I  drank  a  glass  of  bitters  with  his  ghost  this  morning. 
Being  a  neighbor  of  mine,  he  called  me  into  his  store, 
as  I  was  riding  by,  and  treated  me,  and  then  asked  me 
to  do  a  little  business  for  him  on  the  road.  He  did  n't 
seem  to  know-  any  more  about  his  own  murder  thgn  I 
did." 

44  Why,  then,  it  can't  be  a  fact !  "  exclaimed  Domini- 
cus  Pike. 

"I  guess  he  'd  have  mentioned,  if  it  was,"  said  the 
old  farmer ;  and  he  removed  his  chair  back  to  the 
corner,  leaving  Dominions  quite  down  in  the  mouth. 

Here  was  a  sad  resurrection  of  old  Mr.  Higgin 
botham  !  The  pedlar  had  no  heart  to  mingle  in  the 
conversation  any  more,  but  comforted  himself  with  a 
glass  of  gin  and  water,  and  went  to  bed  where,  all 
night  long,  he  dreamed  of  hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's 
pear-tree.  To  avoid  the  old  farmer  (whom  he  so  de 
tested  that  his  suspension  would  have  pleased  him  bet 
ter  than  Mr.  Higginbotham's),  Dominicus  rose  in  the 
gray  of  the  morning,  put  the  little  mare  into  the  green 
cart,  and  trotted  swiftly  away  towards  Parker's  Falls. 
The  fresh  breeze,  the  dewy  road,  and  the  pleasant 
summer  dawn,  revived  his  spirits,  and  might  have  en 
couraged  him  to  repeat  the  old  story  had  there  been 
anybody  awake  to  hear  it.  But  he  met  neither  ox 
team,  light  wagon  chaise,  horseman,  nor  foot  traveller, 
till,  just  as  he  crossed  Salmon  River,  a  man  came 
trudging  down  to  the  bridge  with  a  bundle  over  his 
shoulder,  on  the  end  of  a  stick. 

44  Good  morning,  mister,"  said  the  pedlar,  reining 
in  his  mare.  "  If  you  come  from  Kimballton  or  that 
neighborhood,  may  be  you  can  tell  me  the  real  fact 


132  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

about  this  affair  of  old  Mr.  Higginbotham.  Was  the 
old  fellow  actually  murdered  two  or  three  nights  ago, 
by  an  Irishman  and  a  nigger  ?  " 

Dominions  had  spoken  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  ob 
serve,  at  first,  that  the  stranger  himself  had  a  deep 
tinge  of  negro  blood.  On  hearing  this  sudden  ques- 
tioi^,  the  Ethiopian  appeared  to  change  his  skin,  its 
yellow  hue  becoming  a  ghastly  white,  while,  shaking 
and  stammering,  he  thus  replied  :  — 

"  No !  no !  There  was  no  colored  man  !  It  was 
an  Irishman  that  hanged  him  last  night,  at  eight 
o'clock.  I  came  away  at  seven !  His  folks  can't 
have  looked  for  him  in  the  orchard  yet." 

Scarcely  had  the  yellow  man  spoken,  when  he  inter 
rupted  himself,  and  though  he  seemed  weary  enough 
before,  continued  his  journey  at  a  pace  which  would 
have  kept  the  pedlar's  mare  on  a  smart  trot.  Do- 
minicus  started  after  him  in  great  perplexity.  If  the 
murder  had  not  been  committed  till  Tuesday  night, 
who  was  the  prophet  that  had  foretold  it,  in  all  its 
circumstances,  on  Tuesday  morning  ?  If  Mr.  Higgin 
botham' s  corpse  were  not  yet  discovered  by  his  own 
family,  how  came  the  mulatto,  at  above  thirty  miles' 
distance,  to  know  that  he  was  hanging  in  the  orchard, 
especially  as  he  had  left  Kimballton  before  the  un 
fortunate  man  was  hanged  at  all  ?  These  ambiguous 
circumstances,  with  the  stranger's  surprise  and  terror, 
made  Dominions  think  of  raising  a  hue  and  cry  after 
him,  as  an  accomplice  in  the  murder  ;  since  a  murder, 
it  seemed,  had  really  been  perpetrated. 

"  But  let  the  poor  devil  go,"  thought  the  pedlar. 
44 1  don't  want  his  black  blood  on  my  head  ;  and  hang 
ing  the  nigger  would  n't  unhang  Mr.  Higginbotham. 
Unhang  the  old  gentleman  !  It 's  a  sin,  I  know  ;  but 


MR.    HIGGIXBOTHAM'S  CATASTROPHE.    133 

I  should  hate  to  have  him  come  to  life  a  second  time, 
and  give  me  the  lie  !  " 

With  these  meditations.  Dominicus  Pike  drove  into 
the  street  of  Parker's  Falls,  which,  as  everybody 
knows,  is  as  thriving  a  village  as  three  cotton  factories 
and  a  slitting  mill  can  make  it.  The  machinery  was 
not  in  motion,  and  but  a  few  of  the  shop  doors  un 
barred,  when  he  alighted  in  the  stable  yard  of  the 
tavern,  and  made  it  his  first  business  to  order  the  mare 
four  quarts  of  oats.  His  second  duty,  of  course,  was 
to  impart  Mr.  Higginbotham's  catastrophe  to  the 
hostler.  He  deemed  it  advisable,  however,  not  to  be 
too  positive  as  to  the  date  of  the  diref id  fact,  and  also 
to  be  uncertain  whether  it  were  perpetrated  by  an 
Irishman  and  a  mulatto,  or  by  the  son  of  Erin  alone. 
Neither  did  he  profess  to  relate  it  on  his  own  author 
ity,  or  that  of  any  one  person  ;  but  mentioned  it  as  a 
report  generally  diffused. 

The  story  ran  through  the  town  like  fire  among 
girdled  trees,  and  became  so  much  the  universal  talk 
that  nobody  could  tell  whence  it  had  originated.  Mr. 
Higginbotham  was  as  well  known  at  Parker's  Falls 
as  any  citizen  of  the  place,  being  part  owner  of  the 
slitting  mill,  and  a  considerable  stockholder  in  the 
cotton  factories.  The  inhabitants  felt  their  own  pros 
perity  interested  in  his  fate.  Such  was  the  excite 
ment,  that  the  Parker's  Falls  Gazette  anticipated  its 
regular  da}'  of  publication,  and  came  out  with  half  a 
form  of  blank  paper  and  a  column  of  double  pica 
emphasized  with  capitals,  and  headed  HORRID 
MURDER  OF  MR.  HIGGIXBOTHAM  I  Among 
other  dreadful  details,  the  printed  account  described 
the  mark  of  the  cord  round  the  dead  man's  neck,  and 
stated  the  number  of  thousand  dollars  of  which  he 


134  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

had  been  robbed ;  there  was  much  pathos  also  about 
the  affliction  of  his  niece,  who  had  gone  from  one 
fainting  fit  to  another,  ever  since  her  uncle  was  found 
hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree  with  his  pock 
ets  inside  out.  The  village  poet  likewise  commemo 
rated  the  young  lady's  grief  in  seventeen  stanzas  of  a 
ballad.  The  selectmen  held  a  meeting,  and,  in  con 
sideration  of  Mr.  Higginbotham's  claims  on  the  town, 
determined  to  issue  handbills,  offering  a  reward  of 
five  hundred  dollars  for  the  apprehension  of  his  mur 
derers,  and  the  recovery  of  the  stolen  property. 

Meanwhile  the  whole  population  of  Parker's  Falls, 
consisting  of  shopkeepers,  mistresses  of  boarding- 
houses,  factory  girls,  millmen,  and  school  boys,  rushed 
into  the  street  and  kept  up  such  a  terrible  loquacity 
as  more  than  compensated  for  the  silence  of  the  cotton 
machines,  which  refrained  from  their  usual  din  out  of 
respect  to  the  deceased.  Had  Mr.  Higginbotham 
cared  about  posthumous  renown,  his  untimely  ghost 
would  have  exulted  in  this  tumult.  Our  friend  Do- 
minicus,  in  his  vanity  of  heart,  forgot  his  intended  pre 
cautions,  and  mounting  on  the  town  pump,  announced 
himself  as  the  bearer  of  the  authentic  intelligence 
which  had  caused  so  wonderful  a  sensation.  He  im 
mediately  became  the  great  man  of  the  moment, 
and  had  just  begun  a  new  edition  of  the  narrative, 
with  a  voice  like  a  field  preacher,  when  the  mail  stage 
drove  into  the  village  street.  It  had  travelled  all 
night,  and  must  have  shifted  horses  at  Kimballtoii, 
at  three  in  the  morning. 

"  Now  we  shall  hear  all  the  particulars,"  shouted 
the  crowd. 

The  coach  rumbled  up  to  the  piazza  of  the  tave,rn, 
followed  by  a  thousand  people ;  for  if  any  man  had 


MR.  HIGGINBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE.    135 

been  minding  his  own  business  till  then,  he  now  left 
it  at  sixes  and  sevens,  to  hear  the  news.  The  pedlar, 
foremost  in  the  race,  discovered  two  passengers,  both 
of  whom  had  been  startled  from  a  comfortable  nap 
to  find  themselves  in  the  centre  of  a  mob.  Every 
man  assailing  them  with  separate  questions,  all  pro 
pounded  at  once,  the  couple  were  struck  speechless, 
though  one  was  a  lawyer  and  the  other  a  young  lady. 

'•  Mr.  Higginbotham  !  Mr.  Higgmbotham !  Tell  us 
the  particulars  about  old  Mr.  Higginbotham ! "  bawled 
the  mob.  "  What  is  the  coroner's  verdict  ?  Are  the 
murderers  apprehended  ?  Is  Mr.  Higginbotham' s 
niece  come  out  of  her  fainting  fits  ?  Mr.  Higgin 
botham  !  Mr.  Higginbotham  ! !  " 

The  coachman  said  not  a  word,  except  to  swear 
awfully  at  the  hostler  for  not  bringing  him  a  fresh  team 
of  horses.  The  lawyer  inside  had  generally  his  wits 
about  him  even  when  asleep  :  the  first  thing  he  did, 
after  learning  the  cause  of  the  excitement,  was  to  pro 
duce  a  large,  red  pocket-book.  Meantime  Dominions 
Pike,  being  an  extremely  polite  young  man,  and  also 
suspecting  that  a  female  tongue  would  tell  the  story 
as  glibly  as  a  lawyer's,  had  handed  the  lady  out  of  the 
coach.  She  was  a  fine,  smart  girl,  now  wide  awake 
and  bright  as  a  button,  and  had  such  a  sweet  pretty 
mouth,  that  Dominions  would  almost  as  lief  have 
heard  a  love  tale  from  it  as  a  tale  of  murder. 

"  Gentlemen  and  ladies,"  said  the  lawyer  to  the 
shopkeepers,  the  niillmen,  and  the  factory  girls,  k*  I  can 
assure  you  that  some  unaccountable  mistake,  or,  more 
probably,  a  wilful  falsehood,  maliciously  contrived  to 
injure  Mr.  Higgiiibotham's  credit,  has  excited  this 
singular  uproar.  AVe  passed  through  Kimballton  at 
three  o'clock  this  morning,  and  most  certainly  should 


136  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

have  been  informed  of  the  murder  had  any  been  per 
petrated.  But  I  have  proof  nearly  as  strong  as  Mr. 
Higginbothanv  s  own  oral  testimony,  in  the  negative. 
Here  is  a  note  relating  to  a  suit  of  his  in  the  Con 
necticut  courts,  which  was  delivered  me  from  that 
gentleman  himself.  I  find  it  dated  at  ten  o'clock  last 
evening." 

So  saying,  the  lawyer  exhibited  the  date  and  signa 
ture  of  the  note,  which  irrefragably  proved,  either 
that  this  perverse  Mr.  Higginbotham  was  alive  when 
he  wrote  it,  or  —  as  some  deemed  the  more  probable 
case,  of  two  doubtful  ones  —  that  he  was  so  absorbed 
in  worldly  business  as  to  continue  to  transact  it  even 
after  his  death.  But  unexpected  evidence  was  forth 
coming.  The  young  lady,  after  listening  to  the  ped 
lar's  explanation,  merely  seized  a  moment  to  smooth 
her  gown  and  put  her  curls  in  order,  and  then  ap 
peared  at  the  tavern  door,  making  a  modest  signal  to 
be  heard. 

"  Good  people,"  said  she,  "  I  am  Mr.  Higginbot 
ham' s  niece." 

A  wondering  murmur  passed  through  the  crowd  on 
beholding  her  so  rosy  and  bright ;  that  same  unhappy 
niece,  whom  they  had  supposed,  on  the  authority  of 
the  Parker's  Falls  Gazette,  to  be  lying  at  death's 
door  in  a  fainting  fit.  But  some  shrewd  fellows  had 
doubted,  all  along,  whether  a  young  lady  would  be 
quite  so  desperate  at  the  hanging  of  a  rich  old  uncle. 

"You  see,"  continued  Miss  Higginbotham,  with  a 
smile,  "  that  this  strange  story  is  quite  unfounded  as 
to  myself ;  and  I  believe  I  may  affirm  it  to  be  equally 
BO  in  regard  to  my  dear  uncle  Higginbotham.  He 
has  the  kindness  to  give  me  a  home  in  his  house, 
though  I  contribute  to  my  own  support  by  teaching  a 


MR.  HIGGIXBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE.    137 

school.  I  left  Kimballton  this  morning  to  spend  the 
vacation  of  commencement  week  with  a  friend,  about 
five  miles  from  Parker's  Falls.  My  generous  uncle, 
when  he  heard  me  on  the  stairs,  called  me  to  his  bed 
side,  and  gave  me  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  to  pay 
my  stage  fare,  and  another  dollar  for  my  extra  ex 
penses.  He  then  laid  his  pocket-book  under  his  pil 
low,  shook  hands  with  me,  and  advised  me  to  take 
some  biscuit  in  my  bag.  instead  of  breakfasting  on  the 
road.  I  feel  confident,  therefore,  that  I  left  my  be 
loved  relative  alive,  and  trust  that  I  shall  find  him  so 
on  my  return." 

The  young  lady  courtesied  at  the  close  of  her 
speech,  which  was  so  sensible  and  well  worded,  and 
delivered  with  such  grace  and  propriety,  that  every 
body  thought  her  fit  to  be  preceptress  of  the  best 
academy  in  the  State.  But  a  stranger  would  have 
supposed  that  Mr.  Higginbotham  was  an  object  of  ab 
horrence  at  Parker's  Falls,  and  that  a  thanksgiving 
had  been  proclaimed  for  his  murder ;  so  excessive 
was  the  wrath  of  the  inhabitants  on  learning  their 
mistake.  The  millmen  resolved  to  bestow  public  hon 
ors  on  Dominicus  Pike,  only  hesitating  whether  to 
tar  and  feather  him,  ride  him  on  a  rail,  or  refresh  him 
with  an  ablution  at  the  town  pump,  on  the  top  of 
which  he  had  declared  himself  the  bearer  of  the  news. 
The  selectmen,  by  advice  of  the  lawyer,  spoke  of  pros 
ecuting  him  for  a  misdemeanor,  in  circulating  un 
founded  reports,  to  the  great  disturbance  of  the  peace 
of  the  Commonwealth.  Nothing  saved  Dominicus, 
either  from  mob  law  or  a  court  of  justice,  but  an 
eloquent  appeal  made  by  the  young  lady  in  his  behalf. 
Addressing  a  few  words  of  heartfelt  gratitude  to  his 
benefactress,  he  mounted  the  green  cart  and  rode  out 


138      *  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

of  town,  under  a  discharge  of  artillery  from  the  school 
boys,  who  found  plenty  of  ammunition  in  the  neigh 
boring  clay-pits  and  mud  holes.  As  he  turned  his 
head  to  exchange  a  farewell  glance  with  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham's  niece,  a  ball,  of  the  consistence  of  hasty 
pudding,  hit  him  slap  in  the  mouth,  giving  him  a  most 
grim  aspect.  His  whole  person  was  so  bespattered 
with  the  like  filthy  missiles,  that  he  had  almost  a  mind 
to  ride  back,  and  supplicate  for  the  threatened  ablu 
tion  at  the  town  pump ;  for,  though  not  meant  in 
kindness,  it  would  now  have  been  a  deed  of  charity. 

However,  the  sun  shone  bright  on  poor  Dominicus, 
and  the  mud,  an  emblem  of  all  stains  of  undeserved 
opprobrium,  was  easily  brushed  off  when  dry.  Being 
a  funny  rogue,  his  heart  soon  cheered  up ;  nor  could 
he  refrain  from  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  uproar  which 
his  story  had  excited.  The  handbills  of  the  select 
men  would  cause  the  commitment  of  all  the  vagabonds 
in  the  State ;  the  paragraph  in  the  Parker's  Falls 
Gazette  would  be  reprinted  from  Maine  to  Florida, 
and  perhaps  form  an  item  in  the  London  newspapers ; 
and  many  a  miser  would  tremble  for  his  money  bags 
and  life,  on  learning  the  catastrophe  of  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham.  The  pedlar  meditated  with  much  fervor  on 
the  charms  of  the  young  schoolmistress,  and  swore 
that  Daniel  Webster  never  spoke  nor  looked  so  like 
an  angel  as  Miss  Higginbotham,  while  defending  him 
from  the  wrathful  populace  at  Parker's  Falls. 

Dominicus  was  now  on  the  Kimballton  turnpike, 
having  all  along  determined  to  visit  that  place,  though 
business  had  drawn  him  out  of  the  most  direct  road 
from  Morristown.  As  he  approached  the  scene  of  the 
supposed  murder,  he  continued  to  revolve  the  circum 
stances  in  his  mind,  and  was  astonished  at  the  aspect 


MR.   HIGGIXBOTHAM'S   CATASTROPHE. 

which  the  whole  case  assumed.  Had  nothing  oc 
curred  to  corroborate  the  story  of  the  first  traveller, 
it  might  now  have  been  considered  as  a  hoax ;  but  the 
yellow  man  was  evidently  acquainted  either  with  the 
report  or  the  fact ;  and  there  was  a  mystery  in  his  dis 
mayed  and  guilty  look  on  being  abruptly  questioned. 
Wheii,  to  this  singular  combination  of  incidents,  it 
was  added  that  the  rumor  tallied  exactly  with  Mr. 
Higginbotham's  character  and  habits  of  life ;  and 
that  he  had  an  orchard,  and  a  St.  Michael's  pear-tree, 
near  which  he  always  passed  at  nightfall :  the  circum 
stantial  evidence  appeared  so  strong  that  Dominicus 
doubted  whether  the  autograph  produced  by  the  law 
yer,  or  even  the  niece's  direct  testimony,  ought  to  be 
equivalent.  Making  cautious  inquiries  along  the  road, 
the  pedlar  further  learned  that  Mr.  Higginbotham 
had  in  his  service  an  Irishman  of  doubtful  character, 
whom  he  had  hired  without  a  recommendation,  on  the 
score  of  economy. 

"  May  I  be  hanged  myself,"  exclaimed  Dominicus 
Pike  aloud,  on  reaching  the  top  of  a  lonely  hill,  "  if 
I  '11  believe  old  Higginbotham  is  unhanged  till  I  see 
him  with  my  own  eyes,  and  hear  it  from  his  own 
mouth !  And  as  he 's  a  real  shaver,  I  '11  have  the  min 
ister  or  some  other  responsible  man  for  an  indorser." 

It  was  oTowins:  dusk  when  he  reached  the  toll-house 

o  O 

on  Kimballton  turnpike,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  village  of  this  name.  His  little  mare  was  fast 
bringing  him  up  with  a  man  on  horseback,  who  trotted 
through  the  £ate  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  him.  nodded 

&  & 

to  the  toll-gatherer,  and  kept  on  towards  the  village. 
Dominicus  was  acquainted  with  the  tollman,  and,  while 
making  change,  the  usual  remarks  on  the  weather 
passed  between  them. 


140  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  pedlar,  throwing  back  his 
whiplash,  to  bring  it  down  like  a  feather  on  the  mare's 
flank,  "  you  have  not  seen  anything  of  old  Mr.  Hig- 
ginbotham  within  a  day  or  two?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  toll-gatherer.  "  He  passed 
the  gate  just  before  you  drove  up,  and  yonder  he  rides 
now,  if  you  can  see  him  through  the  dusk.  He 's  been 
to  Woodfield  this  afternoon,  attending  a  sheriff's  sale 
there.  The  old  man  generally  shakes  hands  and  has 
a  little  chat  with  me ;  but  to-night,  he  nodded,  —  as 
if  to  say,  '  Charge  my  toll,'  and  jogged  on ;  for  wher 
ever  he  goes,  he  must  always  be  at  home  by  eight 
o'clock." 

"  So  they  tell  me,"  said  Dominicus. 

"  I  never  saw  a  man  look  so  yellow  and  thin  as  the 
squire  does,"  continued  the  toll-gatherer.  "  Says  I  to 
myself,  to-night,  he's  more  like  a  ghost  or  an  old 
mummy  than  good  flesh  and  blood." 

The  pedlar  strained  his  eyes  through  the  twilight, 
and  could  just  discern  the  horseman  now  far  ahead  on 
the  village  road.  He  seemed  to  recognize  the  rear  of 
Mr.  Higginbotham  ;  but  through  the  evening  shadows, 
and  amid  the  dust  from  the  horse's  feet,  the  figure  ap 
peared  dim  and  unsubstantial ;  as  if  the  shape  of  the 
mysterious  old  man  were  faintly  moulded  of  darkness 
and  gray  light.  Dominicus  shivered. 

"  Mr.  Higginbotham  has  come  back  from  the  other 
world,  by  way  of  the  Kimballton  turnpike,"  thought 
he. 

He  shook  the  reins  and  rode  forward,  keeping  about 
the  same  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  gray  old  shadow, 
till  the  latter  was  concealed  by  a  bend  of  the  road. 
On  reaching  this  point,  the  pedlar  no  longer  saw  the 
man  on  horseback,  but  found  himself  at  the  head  of 


MR.   HIGGINBOTHAM  S   CATASTROPHE.     141 

the  village  street,  not  far  from  a  number  of  stores  and 
two  taverns,  clustered  round  the  meeting-house  steeple. 
On  his  left  were  a  stone  wall  and  a  gate,  the  boundary 
of  a  wood-lot,  beyond  which  lay  an  orchard,  farther 
still,  a  mowing  field,  and  last  of  all,  a  house.  These 
were  the  premises  of  Mr.  Higginbotham,  whose  dwell 
ing  stood  beside  the  old  highway,  but  had  been  left 
in  the  background  by  the  Kiruballton  turnpike.  Do- 
minicus  knew  the  place ;  and  the  little  mare  stopped 
short  by  instinct ;  for  he  was  not  conscious  of  tighten 
ing  the  reins. 

44  For  the  soul  of  me,  I  cannot  get  by  this  gate !  " 
said  he,  trembling.  u  I  never  shall  be  my  own  man 
again,  till  I  see  whether  Mr.  Higginbotham  is  hanging 
on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree !  " 

He  leaped  from  the  cart,  gave  the  rein  a  turn  round 
the  gate  post,  and  ran  along  the  green  path  of  the 
wood-lot  as  if  Old  Nick  were  chasing  behind.  Just 
then  the  village  clock  tolled  eight,  and  as  each  deep 
stroke  fell,  Dominicus  gave  a  fresh  bound  and  flew 
faster  than  before,  till,  dim  in  the  solitary  centre  of 
the  orchard,  he  saw  the  fated  pear-tree.  One  great 
branch  stretched  from  the  old  contorted  trunk  across 
the  path,  and  threw  the  darkest  shadow  on  that  one 
spot.  But  something  seemed  to  struggle  beneath  the 
branch ! 

The  pedlar  had  never  pretended  to  more  courage 
than  befits  a  man  of  peaceable  occupation,  nor  could 
he  account  for  his  valor  on  this  awful  emergency. 
Certain  it  is,  however,  that  he  rushed  forward,  pros 
trated  a  sturdy  Irishman  with  the  butt  end  of  his 
whip,  and  found  —  not  indeed  hanging  on  the  St.  Mi 
chael's  pear-tree,  but  trembling  beneath  it,  with  a  halter 
round  his  neck  —  the  old,  identical  Mr.  Higginbotham ! 


142  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  Mr.  Higginbotham,"  said  Dominicus  tremulously, 
"  you  're  an  honest  man,  and  I  '11  take  your  word  for 
it.  Have  you  been  hanged  or  not  ?  " 

If  the  riddle  be  not  already  guessed,  a  few  words 
will  explain  the  simple  machinery  by  which  this  "  com 
ing  event"  was  made  to  "cast  its  shadow  before." 
Three  men  had  plotted  the  robbery  and  murder  of 
Mr.  Higginbotham ;  two  of  them,  successively,  lost 
courage  and  fled,  each  delaying  the  crime  one  night 
by  their  disappearance ;  the  third  was  in  the  act  of 
perpetration,  when  a  champion,  blindly  obeying  the 
call  of  fate,  like  the  heroes  of  old  romance,  appeared 
in  the  person  of  Dominicus  Pike. 

It  only  remains  to  say,  that  Mr.  Higginbotham  took 
the  pedlar  into  high  favor,  sanctioned  his  addresses  to 
the  pretty  schoolmistress,  and  settled  his  whole  prop 
erty  on  their  children,  allowing  themselves  the  inter 
est.  In  due  time,  the  old  gentleman  capped  the  climax 
of  his  favors,  by  dying  a  Christian  death,  in  bed,  since 
which  melancholy  event  Dominicus  Pike  has  removed 
from  Kimballton,  and  established  a  large  tobacco 
manufactory  in  my  native  village. 


LITTLE   ANNIE'S   RAMBLE. 

DING-DONG  !     Ding-dong !     Ding-dong ! 

The  town  crier  has  rung  his  bell  at  a  distant  corner, 
and  little  Annie  stands  on  her  father's  doorsteps,  try 
ing  to  hear  what  the  man  with  the  loud  voice  is  talk 
ing  about.  Let  nie  listen  too.  Oh,  he  is  telling  the 
people  that  an  elephant,  and  a  lion,  and  a  royal  tiger, 
and  a  horse  with  horns,  and  other  strange  beasts  from 
foreign  countries,  have  come  to  town,  and  will  receive 
all  visitors  who  choose  to  wait  upon  them.  Perhaps 
little  Annie  would  like  to  go.  Yes  ;  and  I  can  see 
that  the  pretty  child  is  weary  of  this  wide  and  pleasant 
street,  with  the  green  trees  flinging  their  shade  across 
the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the  pavements  and  the  side 
walks  all  as  clean  as  if  the  housemaid  had  just  swept 
them  with  her  broom.  She  feels  that  impulse  to  go 
strolling  away  —  that  longing  after  the  mystery  of  the 
great  world  —  which  many  children  feel,  and  which  I 
felt  in  my  childhood.  Little  Annie  shall  take  a  ram 
ble  with  me.  See !  I  do  but  hold  out  my  hand,  and, 
like  some  bright  bird  in  the  sunny  air.  with  her  blue 
silk  frock  fluttering  upwards  from  her  white  pantalets, 
she  comes  bounding  on  tiptoe  across  the  street. 

Smooth  back  your  brown  curls,  Annie  ;  and  let  me 
tie  on  your  bonnet,  and  we  will  set  forth  !  What  a 
strange  couple  to  go  on  their  rambles  together!  One 
walks  in  black  attire,-  with  a  measured  step,  and  a 
heavy  brow,  and  his  thoughtful  eyes  bent  down ;  while 
the  gay  little  girl  trips  lightly  along,  as  if  she  were 


144  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

forced  to  keep  hold  of  my  hand,  lest  her  feet  should 
dance  away  from  the  earth.  Yet  there  is  sympathy 
between  us.  If  I  pride  myself  on  anything,  it  is  be 
cause  I  have  a  smile  that  children  love ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  there  are  few  grown  ladies  that  could 
entice  me  from  the  side  of  little  Annie  ;  for  I  delight 
to  let  my  mind  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  mind  of  a 
sinless  child.  So,  come,  Annie ;  but  if  I  moralize  as 
we  go,  do  not  listen  to  me ;  only  look  about  you,  and 
be  merry ! 

Now  we  turn  the  corner.  Here  are  hacks  with  two 
horses,  and  stage-coaches  with  four,  thundering  to 
meet  each  other,  and  trucks  and  carts  moving  at  a 
slower  pace,  being  heavily  laden  with  barrels  from  the 
wharves,  and  here  are  rattling  gigs,  which  perhaps  will 
be  smashed  to  pieces  before  our  eyes.  Hitherward, 
also,  comes  a  man  trundling  a  wheelbarrow  along  the 
pavement.  Is  not  little  Annie  afraid  of  such  a  tu 
mult  ?  No ;  she  does  not  even  shrink  closer  to  my 
side,  but  passes  on  with  fearless  confidence,  a  happy 
child  amidst  a  great  throng  of  grown  people,  who  pay 
the  same  reverence  to  her  infancy  that  they  would  to 
extreme  old  age.  Nobody  jostles  her;  all  turn  aside 
to  make  way  for  little  Annie ;  and  what  is  most  sin 
gular,  she  appears  conscious  of  her  claim  to  such  re 
spect.  Now  her  eyes  brighten  with  pleasure  !  A  street 
musician  has  seated  himself  on  the  steps  of  yonder 
church,  and  pours  forth  his  strains  to  the  busy  town, 
a  melody  that  has  gone  astray  among  the  tramp  of 
footsteps,  the  buzz  of  voices,  and  the  war  of  passing 
wheels.  Who  heeds  the  poor  organ  grinder  ?  None 
but  myself  and  little  Annie,  whose  feet  begin  to  move 
in  unison  with  the  lively  tune,  as  if  she  were  /loath 
that  music  should  be  wasted  without  a  dance.  But 


LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE.  145 

where  would  Annie  find  a  partner?  Some  have  the 
gout  in  their  toes,  or  the  rheumatism  in  their  joints ; 
some  are  stiff  with  age  ;  some  feeble  with  disease ; 
some  are  so  lean  that  their  bones  would  rattle,  and 
others  of  such  ponderous  size  that  their  agility  woidd 
crack  the  flagstones;  but  many,  many  have  leaden 
feet,  because  their  hearts  are  far  heavier  than  lead. 
It  is  a  sad  thought  that  I  have  chanced  upon.  AVhat 
a  company  of  dancers  shoidd  we  be !  For  I,  too,  am 
a  gentleman  of  sober  footsteps,  and  therefore,  little 
Annie,  let  us  walk  sedately  on. 

It  is  a  question  with  me,  whether  this  giddy  child 
or  my  sage  self  have  most  pleasure  in  looking  at  the 
shop  windows.  We  love  the  silks  of  sunny  hue.  that 
glow  within  the  darkened  premises  of  the  spruce  dry 
goods'  men  ;  we  are  pleasantly  dazzled  by  the  bur 
nished  silver  and  the  chased  gold,  the  rings  of  wed 
lock  and  the  costly  love  ornaments,  glistening  at  the 
window  of  the  jeweller ;  but  Annie,  more  than  I.  seeks 
for  a  glimpse  of  her  passing  figure  in  the  dusty  look 
ing-glasses  at  the  hardware  stores.  All  that  is  bright 
and  gay  attracts  us  both. 

Here  is  a  shop  to  which  the  recollections  of  my  boy 
hood,  as  well  as  present  partialities,  give  a  peculiar 
magic.  How  delightful  to  let  the  fancy  revel  on  the 
dainties  of  a  confectioner :  those  pies,  with  such  white 
and  flaky  paste,  their  contents  being  a  mystery,  whether 
rich  mince,  with  whole  plums  intermixed,  or  piquant 
apple,  delicately  rose  flavored;  those  cakes,  heart- 
shaped  or  round,  piled  in  a  lofty  pyramid ;  those  sweet 
little  circlets,  sweetly  named  kisses  :  those  dark  majes 
tic  masses,  fit  to  be  bridal  loaves  at  the  wedding  of 
an  heiress,  mountains  in  size,  their  summits  deeply 
snow-covered  with  sugar  !  Then  the  mighty  treasures 

VOL.    JC.  10 


146  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  sugar-plums,  white  and  crimson  and  yellow,  in 
large  glass  vases ;  and  candy  of  all  varieties ;  and 
those  little  cockles,  or  whatever  they  are  called,  much 
prized  by  children  for  their  sweetness,  and  more  for 
the  mottoes  which  they  inclose,  by  love-sick  maids  and 
bachelors !  Oh,  my  mouth  waters,  little  Annie,  and  so 
doth  yours ;  but  we  will  not  be  tempted,  except  to  an 
imaginary  feast ;  so  let  us  hasten  onward,  devouring 
the  vision  of  a  plum  cake. 

Here  are  pleasures,  as  some  people  would  say,  of  a 
more  exalted  kind,  in  the  window  of  a  bookseller,  is 
Annie  a  literary  lady  ?  Yes  ;  she  is  deeply  read  in 
Peter  Parley's  tomes,  and  has  an  increasing  love  for 
fairy  tales,  though  seldom  met  with  nowadays,  and 
she  will  subscribe,  next  year,  to  the  Juvenile  Miscel 
lany.  But,  truth  to  tell,  she  is  apt  to  turn  away  from 
the  printed  page,  and  keep  gazing  at  the  pretty  pict 
ures,  such  as  the  gay-colored  ones  which  make  this 
shop  window  the  continual  loitering-place  of  children*, 
What  would  Annie  think  if,  in  the  book  which  I 
mean  to  send  her  on  New  Year's  Day,  she  should  find 
her  sweet  little  self,  bound  up  in  silk  or  morocco  with 
gilt  edges,  there  to  remain  till  she  become  a  woman 
grown,  with  children  of  her  own  to  read  about  their 
mother's  childhood !  That  would  be  very  queer. 

Little  Annie  is  weary  of  pictures,  and  pulls  me  on 
ward  by  the  hand,  till  suddenly  we  pause  at  the  most 
wondrous  shop  in  all  the  town.  Oh,  my  stars !  Is  this 
a  toyshop,  or  is  it  fairyland?  For  here  are  gilded 
chariots,  in  which  the  king  and  queen  of  the  fairies 
might  ride  side  by  side,  while  their  courtiers,  on  these 
small  horses,  should  gallop  in  triumphal  procession 
before  and  behind  the  royal  pair.  Here,  too,  ^re 
dishes  of  china  ware,  fit  to  be  the  dining  set  of  thos« 


LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE.  147 

same  princely  personages,  when  they  make  a  regal 
banquet  in  the  stateliest  hall  of  their  palace,  full  five 
feet  high,  and  behold  their  nobles  feasting  adown  the 
long  perspective  of  the  table.  Betwixt  the  king  and 
queen  should  sit  my  little  Annie,  the  prettiest  fairv  of 
them  all.  Here  stands  a  turbaned  turk,  threatening 
us  with  his  sabre,  like  an  ugly  heathen  as  he  is.  And 
next  a  Chinese  mandarin,  who  nods  his  head  at  Annie 
and  myself.  Here  we  may  review  a  whole  army  of 
horse  and  foot,  in  red  and  blue  uniforms,  with  drums, 
fifes,  trumpets,  and  all  kinds  of  noiseless  music ;  they 
have  halted  on  the  shelf  of  this  window,  after  their 
weary  march  from  Liliput.  But  what  cares  Annie  for 
soldiers  ?  No  conquering  queen  is  she,  neither  a  Se- 
miramis  nor  a  Catharine ;  her  whole  heart  is  set  upon 
that  doll,  who  gazes  at  us  with  such  a  fashionable  stare. 
This  is  the  little  girl's  true  plaything.  Though  made 
of  wood,  a  doll  is  a  visionary  and  ethereal  personage, 
endowed  by  childish  fancy  with  a  peculiar  life :  the 
mimic  lady  is  a  heroine  of  romance,  an  actor  and  a 
sufferer  in  a  thousand  shadowy  scenes,  the  chief  inhab 
itant  of  that  wild  world  with  which  children  ape  the 
real  one.  Little  Annie  does  not  understand  what  I 
am  saying,  but  looks  wishfully  at  the  proud  lady  in 
the  window.  ^\Ve  wilt  invite  her  home  with  us  as  we 
return.  Meantime,  good-by.  Dame  Doll !  A  toy  your 
self,  you  look  forth  from  your  window  upon  many 
ladies  that  are  also  toys,  though  they  walk  and  speak, 
and  upon  a  crowd  in  pursuit  of  toys,  though  they  wear 
grave  visages.  Oh,  with  your  never  closing  eyes,  had 
you  but  an  intellect  to  moralize  on  all  that  flits  before 
them,  what  a  wise  doll  would  you  be !  Come,  little 
Annie,  we  shall  find  toys  enough,  go  where  we  may. 
Now  we  elbow  our  way  among  the  throng  again. 


148  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

It  is  curious,  in  the  most  crowded  part  of  a  town,  to 
meet  with  living  creatures  that  had  their  birthplace  in 
some  far  solitude,  but  have  acquired  a  second  nature 
in  the  wilderness  of  men.  Look  up,  Annie,  at  that 
canary  bird,  hanging  out  of  the  window  in  his  cage. 
Poor  little  fellow!  His  golden  feathers  are  all  tar 
nished  in  this  smoky  sunshine;  he  would  have  glis 
tened  twice  as  brightly  among  the  summer  islands; 
but  still  he  has  become  a  citizen  in  all  his  tastes  and 
habits,  and  would  not  sing  half  so  well  without  the  up 
roar  that  drowns  his  music.  What  a  pity  that  he  does 
not  know  how  miserable  he  is !  There  is  a  parrot,  too, 
calling  out,  "Pretty  Poll!  Pretty  Poll!  "  as  we  pass 
by.  Foolish  bird,  to  be  talking  about  her  prettiness 
to  strangers,  especially  as  she  is  not  a  pretty  Poll, 
though  gaudily  dressed  in  green  and  yellow.  If  she 
had  said  "Pretty  Annie,"  there  would  have  been 
some  sense  in  it.  See  that  gray  squirrel,  at  the  door 
of  the  fruit  shop,  whirling  round  and  round  so  merrily 
within  his  wire  wheel !  Being  condemned  to  the  tread 
mill,  he  makes  it  an  amusement.  Admirable  philos 
ophy ! 

Here  comes  a  big,  rough  dog,  a  countryman's  dog, 
in  search  of  his  master  ;  smelling  at  everybody's  heels, 
and  touching  little  Annie's  hand  with  his  cold  nose, 
but  hurrying  away,  though  she  would  fain  have  patted 
him.  Success  to  your  search,  Fidelity!  And  there 
sits  a  great  yellow  cat  upon  a  window  sill,  a  very  cor 
pulent  and  comfortable  cat,  gazing  at  this  transitory 
world,  with  owl's  eyes,  and  making  pithy  comments, 
doubtless,  or  what  appear  such,  to  the  silly  beast.  O, 
sage  puss,  make  room  for  me  beside  you,  and  we  will 
be  a  pair  of  philosophers !  .  ,4.. 

Here  we  see  something  to  remind  us  of  the  towu 


LITTLE  ANNI&S  RAMBLE.  149 

crier,  and  his  ding-dong  bell !  Look !  look  at  that 
great  cloth  spread  out  in  the  air,  pictured  all  over 
with  wild  beasts,  as  if  they  had  met  together  to  choose 
a  king,  according  to  their  custom  in  the  days  of  JEsop. 
But  they  are  choosing  neither  a  king  nor  a  president, 
else  we  should  hear  a  most  horrible  snarling !  They 
have  come  from  the  deep  woods,  and  the  wild  moun 
tains,  and  the  desert  sands,  and  the  polar  snows,  only 
to  do  homage  to  my  little  Annie.  As  we  enter  among 
them,  the  great  elephant  makes  us  a  bow,  in  the  best 
style  of  elephantine  courtesy,  bending  lowly  down  his 
mountain  bulk,  with  trunk  abased,  and  leg  thrust  out 
behind.  Annie  returns  the  salute,  much  to  the  gratifi 
cation  of  the  elephant,  who  is  certainly  the  best-bred 
monster  in  the  caravan.  The  lion  and  the  lioness  are 
busy  with  two  beef  bones.  The  royal  tiger,  the  beauti 
ful,  the  untamable,  keeps  pacing  his  narrow  cage  with 
a  haughty  step,  unmindful  of  the  spectators,  or  recall 
ing  the  fierce  deeds  of  his  former  life,  when  he  was 
wont  to  leap  forth  upon  such  inferior  animals  from 
the  jungles  of  Bengal. 

Here  we  see  the  very  same  wolf  —  do  not  go  near 
him,  Annie !  —  the  selfsame  wolf  that  devoured  little 
Eed  Riding  Hood  and  her  grandmother.  In  the  next 
cage,  a  hyena  from  Egypt,  who  has  doubtless  howled 
around  the  pyramids,  and  a  black  bear  from  our  own 
forests,  are  fellow-prisoners,  and  most  excellent  friends. 
Are  there  any  two  living  creatures  who  have  so  few 
sympathies  that  they  cannot  possibly  be  friends  ? 
Here  sits  a  great  white  bear,  whom  common  observers 
would  call  a  very  stupid  beast,  though  I  perceive  him 
to  be  onlv  absorbed  in  contemplation  ;  he  is  thinking 
of  his  voyages  on  an  iceberg,  and  of  his  comfortable 
home  in  the  vicinity  of  the  north  pole,  and  of  the  lit- 


150  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

tie  cubs  whom  he  left  rolling  in  the  eternal  snows, 
In  fact,  he  is  a  bear  of  sentiment.  But,  oh,  those  un 
sentimental  monkeys !  the  ugly,  grinning,  aping,  chat 
tering,  ill-natured,  mischievous,  and  queer  little  brutes. 
Annie  does  not  love  the  monkeys.  Their  ugliness 
shocks  her  pure,  instinctive  delicacy  of  taste,  and 
makes  her  mind  unquiet,  because  it  bears  a  wild  and 
dark  resemblance  to  humanity.  But  here  is  a  little 
pony,  just  big  enough  for  Annie  to  ride,  and  round 
and  round  he  gallops  in  a  circle,  keeping  time  with 
his  trampling  hoofs  to  a  band  of  music.  And  here  — 
with  a  laced  coat  and  a  cocked  hat,  and  a  riding  whip 
in  his  hand  —  here  comes  a  little  gentleman,  small 
enough  to  be  king  of  the  fairies,  and  ugly  enough  to 
be  king  of  the  gnomes,  and  takes  a  flying  leap  into  the 
saddle.  Merrily,  merrily  plays  the  music,  and  mer 
rily  gallops  the  pony,  and  merrily  rides  the  little  old 
gentleman.  Come,  Annie,  into  the  street  again ;  per 
chance  we  may  see  monkeys  on  horseback  there ! 

Mercy  on  us,  what  a  noisy  world  we  quiet  people 
live  in !  Did  Annie  ever  read  the  Cries  of  London 
City  ?  With  what  lusty  lungs  doth  yonder  man  pro 
claim  that  his  wheelbarrow  is  full  of  lobsters  !  Here 
comes  another  mounted  on  a  cart,  and  blowing  a 
hoarse  and  dreadful  blast  from  a  tin  horn,  as  much  as 
to  say  "  Fresh  fish !  "  And  hark  !  a  voice  on  high, 
like  that  of  a  muezzin  from  the  summit  of  a  mosque, 
announcing  that  some  chimney  sweeper  has  emerged 
from  smoke  and  soot,  and  darksome  caverns,  into  the 
upper  air.  What  cares  the  world  for  that  ?  But, 
welladay,  we  hear  a  shrill  voice  of  affliction,  the 
scream  of  a  little  child,  rising  louder  with  every  repe 
tition  of  that  smart,  sharp,  slapping  sound,  produced 
by  an  open  hand  on  tender  flesh.  Annie  sympathizes, 


LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE.  151 

though  without  experience  of  such  direful  woe.  Lo ! 
the  town  crier  again,  with  some  new  secret  for  the 
public  ear.  Will  he  tell  us  of  an  auction,  or  of  a  lost 
pocket-book,  or  a  show  of  beautiful  wax  figures,  or  of 
some  monstrous  beast  more  horrible  than  any  in  the 
caravan  ?  I  guess  the  latter.  See  how  he  uplifts  the 
bell  in  his  right  hand,  and  shakes  it  slowly  at  first, 
then  with  a  hurried  motion,  till  the  clapper  seems  to 
strike  both  sides  at  once,  and  the  sounds  are  scattered 
forth  in  quick  succession,  far  and  near. 

Ding-dong  !     Ding-dong !     Ding-dong ! 

Now  he  raises  his  clear,  loud  voice,  above  all  the 
din  of  the  town  ;  it  drowns  the  buzzing  talk  of  many 
tongues,  and  draws  each  man's  mind  from  his  own 
business  ;  it  rolls  up  and  down  the  echoing  street, 
and  ascends  to  the  hushed  chamber  of  the  sick,  and 
penetrates  downward  to  the  cellar  kitchen,  where  the 
hot  cook  turns  from  the  fire  to  listen.  Who,  of  all 
that  address  the  public  ear,  whether  in  church,  or 
court-house,  or  hall  of  state,  has  such  an  attentive 
audience  as  the  town  crier  ?  What  said  the  people's 
orator  ? 

"  Strayed  from  her  home,  a  LITTLE  GIRL,  of  five 
years  old,  in  a  blue  silk  frock  and  white  pantalets, 
with  brown  curling  hair  and  hazel  eyes.  Whoever 
will  bring  her  back  to  her  afflicted  mother  "  — 

Stop,  stop,  town  crier  !  The  lost  is  found.  O,  my 
pretty  Annie,  we  forgot  to  tell  your  mother  of  our 
ramble,  and  she  is  in  despair,  and  has  sent  the  town 
crier  to  bellow  up  and  down  the  streets,  affrighting 
old  and  young,  for  the  loss  of  a  little  girl  who  has  not 
once  let  go  my  hand  ?  "Well,  let  us  hasten  homeward ; 
and  as  we  go,  forget  not  to  thank  Heaven,  my  Annie, 
that,  after  wandering  a  little  way  into  the  world,  you 


152  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

may  return  at  the  first  summons,  with  an  untainted 
and  unwearied  heart,  and  be  a  happy  child  again. 
But  I  have  gone  too  far  astray  for  the  town  crier  to 
call  me  back. 

Sweet  has  been  the  charm  of  childhood  on  my  spirit, 
throughout  my  ramble  with  little  Annie!  Say  not 
that  it  has  been  a  waste  of  precious  moments,  an  idle 
matter,  a  babble  of  childish  talk,  and  a  reverie  of 
childish  imaginations,  about  topics  unworthy  of  a 
grown  man's  notice.  Has  it  been  merely  this  ?  Not 
so ;  not  so.  They  are  not  truly  wise  who  would  affirm 
it.  As  the  pure  breath  of  children  revives  the  life  of 
aged  men,  so  is  our  moral  nature  revived  by  their  free 
and  simple  thoughts,  their  native  feeling,  their  airy 
mirth,  for  little  cause  or  none,  their  grief,  soon  roused 
and  soon  allayed.  Their  influence  on  us  is  at  least 
reciprocal  with  ours  on  them.  When  our  infancy  is 
almost  forgotten,  and  our  boyhood  long  departed, 
though  it  seems  but  as  yesterday ;  when  life  settles 
darkly  down  upon  us,  and  we  doubt  whether  to  call 
ourselves  young  any  more,  then  it  is  good  to  steal 
away  from  the  society  of  bearded  men,  and  even  of 
gentler  woman,  and  spe^d  an  hour  or  two  with  chil 
dren.  After  drinking  from  those  fountains  of  still 
fresh  existence,  we  shall  return  into  the  crowd,  as  I 
do  now,  to  struggle  onward  and  do  our  part  in  life, 
perhaps  as  fervently  as  ever,  but,  for  a  time,  with  a 
kinder  and  purer  heart,  and  a  spirit  more  lightly  wisa 
All  this  by  thy  sweet  magic,  dear  little  Annie  ! 


• 


TVAKEFIELD. 

IN  some  old  magazine  or  newspaper  I  recollect  a 
story,  told  as  truth,  of  a  man  —  let  us  call  him  Wake- 
field  —  who  absented  himself  for  a  long  time  from  his 
wife.  The  fact,  thus  abstractedly  stated,  is  not  very 
uncommon,  nor  —  without  a  proper  distinction  of  cir 
cumstances  —  to  be  condemned  either  as  naughty  or 
nonsensical.  Howbeit,  this,  though  far  from  the  most 
aggravated,  is  perhaps  the  strangest,  instance  on  rec 
ord,  of  marital  delinquency ;  and,  moreover,  as  re 
markable  a  freak  as  may  be  found  in  the  whole  list  of 
human  oddities.  The  wedded  couple  lived  in  London. 
The  man,  under  pretence  of  going  a  journey,  took 
lodgings  in  the  next  street  to  his  own  house,  and  there, 
unheard  of  by  his  wife  or  friends,  and  without  the 
shadow  of  a  reason  for  such  self-banishment,  dwelt 
upwards  of  twenty  years.  During  that  period,  he  be 
held  his  home  every  day,  and  frequently  the  forlorn 
Mrs.  Wakefield.  And  after  so  great  a  gap  in  his 
matrimonial  felicity  —  when  his  death  was  reckoned 
certain,  his  estate  settled,  his  name  dismissed  from 
memory,  and  his  wife,  long,  long  ago,  resigned  to  her 
autumnal  widowhood  —  he  entered  the  door  one  even 
ing,  quietly,  as  from  a  day's  absence,  and  became  a 
loving  spouse  till  death. 

This  outline  is  all  that  I  remember.  But  the  inci 
dent,  though  of  the  purest  originality,  unexampled, 
and  probably  never  to  be  repeated,  is  one,  I  think, 
which  appeals  to  the  generous  sympathies  of  mankind. 


154  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

We  know,  each  for  himself,  that  none  of  us  would 
perpetrate  such  a  folly,  yet  feel  as  if  some  other  might. 
To  my  own  contemplations,  at  least,  it  has  often  re 
curred,  always  exciting  wonder,  but  with  a  sense  that 
the  story  must  be  true,  and  a  conception  of  its  hero's 
character.  Whenever  any  subject  so  forcibly  affects 
the  mind,  time  is  well  spent  in  thinking  of  it.  If  the 
reader  choose,  let  him  do  his  own  meditation  ;  or  if  he 
prefer  to  ramble  with  me  through  the  twenty  years  of 
Wakefield's  vagary,  I  bid  him  welcome ;  trusting  that 
there  will  be  a  pervading  spirit  and  a  moral,  even 
should  we  fail  to  find  them,  done  up  neatly,  and  con 
densed  into  the  final  sentence.  Thought  has  always  its 
efficacy,  and  every  striking  incident  its  moral. 

What  sort  of  a  man  was  Wakefield  ?  We  are  free 
to  shape  out  our  own  idea,  and  call  it  by  his  name. 
He  was  now  in  the  meridian  of  life  ;  his  matrimonial 
affections,  never  violent,  were  sobered  into  a  calm, 
habitual  sentiment ;  of  all  husbands,  he  was  likely  to 
be  the  most  constant,  because  a  certain  sluggishness 
would  keep  his  heart  at  rest,  wherever  it  might  be 
placed.  He  was  intellectual,  but  not  actively  so  ;  his 
mind  occupied  itself  in  long  and  lazy  musings,  that 
ended  to  no  purpose,  or  had  not  vigor  to  attain  it ; 
his  thoughts  were  seldom  so  energetic  as  to  seize  hold 
of  words.  Imagination,  in  the  proper  meaning  of  the 
term,  made  no  part  of  Wakefield's  gifts.  With  a 
cold  but  not  depraved  nor  wandering  heart,  and  a 
mind  never  feverish  with  riotous  thoughts,  nor  per 
plexed  with  originality,  who  could  have  anticipated 
that  our  friend  would  entitle  himself  to  a  foremost 
place  among  the  doers  of  eccentric  deeds  ?  Had  his 
acquaintances  been  asked,  who  was  the  man  in  Lon 
don  the  surest  to  perform  nothing  to-day  which  should 


WAKEFIELD.  155 

be  remembered  on  the  morrow,  they  would  have 
thought  of  Wakefield.  Only  the  wife  of  his  bosom 
might  have  hesitated.  She,  without  having  analyzed 
his  character,  was  partly  aware  of  a  quiet  selfishness, 
that  had  rusted  into  Ins  inactive  mind  ;  of  a  peculiar 
sort  of  vanity,  the  most  uneasy  attribute  about  him  ; 
of  a  disposition  to  craft,  which  had  seldom  produced 
more  positive  effects  than  the  keeping  of  petty  se 
crets,  hardly  worth  revealing ;  and,  lastly,  of  what  she 
called  a  little  strangeness,  sometimes,  in  the  good  man. 
This  latter  quality  is  indefinable,  and  perhaps  non-ex 
istent. 

Let  us  now  imagine  Wakefield  bidding  adieu  to  his 
wife.  It  is  the  dusk  of  an  October  evening.  His 
equipment  is  a  drab  great-coat,  a  hat  covered  with  an 
oilcloth,  top-boots,  an  umbrella  in  one  hand  and  a 
small  portmanteau  in  the  other.  He  has  informed 
Mrs.  Wakefield  that  he  is  to  take  the  night  coach  into 
the  country.  She  would  fain  inquire  the  length  of 
his  journey,  its  object,  and  the  probable  time  of  his 
return ;  but,  indulgent  to  his  harmless  love  of  mystery, 
interrogates  him  only  by  a  look.  He  tells  her  not  to 
expect  him  positively  by  the  return  coach,  nor  to  be 
alarmed  should  he  tarry  three  or  four  days ;  but,  at 
all  events,  to  look  for  him  at  supper  on  Friday  even 
ing.  Wakefield  himself,  be  it  considered,  has  no  sus 
picion  of  what  is  before  him.  He  holds  out  his  hand, 
she  gives  her  own,  and  meets  his  parting  kiss  in  the 
matter-of-course  way  of  a  ten  years'  matrimony  ;  and 
forth  goes  the  middle-aged  Mr.  Wakefield,  almost  re 
solved  to  perplex  his  good  lady  by  a  whole  week's  ab 
sence.  After  the  door  has  closed  behind  him,  she 
perceives  it  thrust  partly  open,  and  a  vision  of  her 
husband's  face,  through  the  aperture,  smiling  on  her, 


156  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

and  gone  in  a  moment.  For  the  time,  this  little  inci 
dent  is  dismissed  without  a  thought.  But,  long  after 
wards,  when  she  has  been  more  years  a  widow  than  a 
wife,  that  smile  recurs,  and  flickers  across  all  her  rem 
iniscences  of  Wakefield's  visage.  In  her  many  mus 
ings,  she  surrounds  the  original  smile  with  a  multi 
tude  of  fantasies,  which  make  it  strange  and  awful : 
as,  for  instance,  if  she  imagines  him  in  a  coffin,  that 
parting  look  is  frozen  on  his  pale  features  ;  or,  if  she 
dreams  of  him  in  heaven,  still  his  blessed  spirit  wears 
a  quiet  and  crafty  smile.  Yet,  for  its  sake,  when  all 
others  have  given  him  up  for  dead,  she  sometimes 
doubts  whether  she  is  a  widow. 

But  our  business  is  with  the  husband.  We  must 
hurry  after  him  along  the  street,  ere  he  lose  his  indi 
viduality,  and  melt  into  the  great  mass  of  London 
life.  It  would  be  vain  searching  for  him  there.  Let 
us  follow  close  at  his  heels,  therefore,  until,  after  sev 
eral  superfluous  turns  and  doublings,  we  find  him  com 
fortably  established  by  the  fireside  of  a  small  apart 
ment,  previously  bespoken.  He  is  in  the  next  street 
to  his  own,  and  at  his  journey's  end.  He  can  scarcely 
trust  his  good  fortune,  in  having  got  thither  unper- 
ceived  —  recollecting  that,  at  one  time,  he  was  delayed 
by  the  throng,  in  the  very  focus  of  a  lighted  lantern ; 
and,  again,  there  were  footsteps  that  seemed  to  tread 
behind  his  own,  distinct  from  the  multitudinous  tramp 
around  him ;  and,  anon,  he  heard  a  voice  shouting 
afar,  and  fancied  that  it  called  his  name.  Doubtless, 
a  dozen  busybodies  had  been  watching  him,  and  told 
his  wife  the  whole  affair.  Poor  Wakefield !  Little 
knowest  thou  thine  own  insignificance  in  this  great 
world !  No  mortal  eye  but  mine  has  traced  thee. 
Go  quietly  to  thy  bed,  foolish  man ;  and,  on  the  mor 


WAKE  FIELD.  157 

row,  if  thou  wilt  be  wise,  get  thee  home  to  good  Mrs. 
Wakefield,  and  tell  her  the  truth.  Remove  not  thy 
self,  even  for  a  little  week,  from  thy  place  in  her  chaste 
bosom.  Were  she,  for  a  single  moment,  to  deem  thee 
dead,  or  lost,  or  lastingly  divided  from  her,  thou 
wouldst  be  wofiilly  conscious  of  a  change  in  thy  true 
wife  forever  after.  It  is  perilous  to  make  a  chasm  in 
human  affections  ;  not  that  they  gape  so  long  and 
wide  —  but  so  quickly  close  again  ! 

Almost  repenting  of  his  frolic,  or  whatever  it  may 
be  termed,  Wakefield  lies  down  betimes,  and  startin^ 

O 

from  his  first  nap,  spreads  forth  his  arms  into  the  wide 
and  solitary  waste  of  the  unaccustomed  bed.  "  No,"  — 
thinks  he,  gathering  the  bedclothes  about  him,  —  u  I 
will  not  sleep  alone  another  night." 

In  the  morning  he  rises  earlier  than  usual,  and  sets 
himself  to  consider  what  he  really  means  to  do.  Such 
are  his  loose  and  rambling  modes  of  thought  that  he 
has  taken  this  very  singular  step  with  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  purpose,  indeed,  but  without  being  able  to 
define  it  sufficiently  for  his  own  contemplation.  The 
vagueness  of  the  project,  and  the  convulsive  effort  with 
which  he  plunges  into  the  execution  of  it,  are  equally 
characteristic  of  a  feeble-minded  man.  Wakefield  sifts 
his  ideas,  however,  as  minutely  as  he  may,  and  finds 
himself  curious  to  know  the  progress  of  matters  at 
home  —  how  his  exemplary  wife  will  endure  her  widow 
hood  of  a  week ;  and,  briefly,  how  the  little  sphere  of 
creatures  and  circumstances,  in  which  he  was  a  central 
object,  will  be  affected  by  his  removal.  A  morbid 
vanity,  therefore,  lies  nearest  the  bottom  of  the  affair. 
But,  how  is  he  to  attain  his  ends?  Not,  certainly, 
by  keeping  close  in  this  comfortable  lodging,  where, 
though  he  slept  and  awoke  in  the  next  street  to  his 


158  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

home,  he  is  as  effectually  abroad  as  if  the  stage-coach 
had  been  whirling  him  away  all  night.  Yet,  should 
he  reappear,  the  whole  project  is  knocked  in  the  head. 
His  poor  brains  being  hopelessly  puzzled  with  this  di 
lemma,  he  at  length  ventures  out,  partly  resolving  to 
cross  the  head  of  the  street,  and  send  one  hasty  glance 
towards  his  forsaken  domicile.  Habit — for  he  is  a 
man  of  habits  —  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  guides 
him,  wholly  unaware,  to  his  own  door,  where,  just  at 
the  critical  moment,  he  is  aroused  by  the  scraping  of 
his  foot  upon  the  step.  Wakefield  !  whither  are  you 
going? 

At  that  instant  his  fate  was  turning  on  the  pivot- 
Little  dreaming  of  the  doom  to  which  his  first  back 
ward  step  devotes  him,  he  hurries  away,  breathless 
with  agitation  hitherto  unfelt,  and  hardly  dares  turn 
his  head  at  the  distant  corner.  Can  it  be  that  nobody 
caught  sight  of  him  ?  Will  not  the  whole  household 
—  the  decent  Mrs.  Wakefield,  the  smart  maid  servant, 
and  the  dirty  little  footboy  —  raise  a  hue  and  cry, 
through  London  streets,  in  pursuit  of  their  fugitive 
lord  and  master  ?  Wonderful  escape !  He  gathers 
courage  to  pause  and  look  homeward,  but  is  perplexed 
with  a  sense  of  change  about  the  familiar  edifice,  such 
as  affects  us  all,  when,  after  a  separation  of  months  or 
years,  we  again  see  some  hill  or  lake,  or  work  of  art, 
with  which  we  were  friends  of  old.  In  ordinary  cases, 
this  indescribable  impression  is  caused  by  the  compar 
ison  and  contrast  between  our  imperfect  reminiscences 
and  the  reality.  In  Wakefield,  the  magic  of  a  single 
night  has  wrought  a  similar  transformation,  because, 
in  that  brief  period,  a  great  moral  change  has  been 
effected.  But  this  is  a  secret  from  himself.  Before 
leaving  the  spot,  he  catches  a  far  and  momentary 


WAKEFIELD.  159 

glimpse  of  his  wife,  passing  athwart  the  front  window, 
with  her  face  turned  towards  the  head  of  the  street. 
The  crafty  nincompoop  takes  to  his  heels,  scared  with 
the  idea  that,  among  a  thousand  such  atoms  of  mor 
tality,  her  eye  must  have  detected  him.  Right  glad  is 
his  heart,  though  his  brain  be  somewhat  dizzy,  when 
he  finds  himself  by  the  coal  fire  of  his  lodgings. 

So  much  for  the  commencement  of  this  longr  whim- 

o 

wham.  After  the  initial  conception,  and  the  stirring 
up  of  the  man's  sluggish  temperament  to  put  it  in 
practice,  the  whole  matter  evolves  itself  in  a  natural 
train.  We  may  suppose  him,  as  the  result  of  deep 
deliberation,  buying  a  new  wig,  of  reddish  hair,  and 
selecting  sundry  garments,  in  a  fashion  unlike  his  cus 
tomary  suit  of  brown,  from  a  Jew's  old-clothes  bag. 
It  is  accomplished.  Wakefield  is  another  man.  The 
new  system  being  now  established,  a  retrograde  move 
ment  to  the  old  would  be  almost  as  difficult  as  the  step 
that  placed  him  in  his  unparalleled  position.  Further 
more,  he  is  rendered  obstinate  by  a  sulkiness  occasion 
ally  incident  to  his  temper,  and  brought  on  at  present 
by  the  inadequate  sensation  which  he  conceives  to 
have  been  produced  in  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Wakefield. 
He  will  not  go  back  until  she  be  frightened  half  to 
death.  Well ;  twice  or  thrice  has  she  passed  before 
nis  sight,  each  time  with  a  heavier  step,  a  paler  cheek, 
and  more  anxious  brow ;  and  in  the  third  week  of  his 
non-appearance  he  detects  a  portent  of  evil  entering 
the  house,  in  the  guise  of  an  apothecary.  Next  day 
the  knocker  is  muffled.  Towards  nightfall  comes  the 
chariot  of  a  physician,  and  deposits  its  big-digged  and 
solemn  burden  at  Wakefield' s  door,  whence,  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  visit,  he  emerges,  perchance  the 
herald  of  a  funeral.  Dear  woman !  Will  she  die  ? 


160  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

By  this  time,  Wakefield  is  excited  to  something  like 
energy  of  feeling,  but  still  lingers  away  from  his  wife's 
bedside,  pleading  with  his  conscience  that  she  must 
not  be  disturbed  at  such  a  juncture.  If  aught  else  re 
strains  him,  he  does  not  know  it.  In  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks  she  gradually  recovers ;  the  crisis  is  over ; 
her  heart  is  sad,  perhaps,  but  quiet ;  and,  let  him  re 
turn  soon  or  late,  it  will  never  be  feverish  for  him 
again.  Such  ideas  glimmer  through  the  mist  of  W  ake- 
field's  mind,  and  render  him  indistinctly  conscious 
that  an  almost  impassable  gulf  divides  his  hired  apart 
ment  from  his  former  home.  "  It  is  but  in  the  next 
street !  "  he  sometimes  says.  Fool !  it  is  in  another 
world.  Hitherto,  he  has  put  off  his  return  from  one 
particular  day  to  another ;  henceforward,  he  leaves  the 
precise  time  undetermined.  Not  to-morrow  —  prob 
ably  next  week  —  pretty  soon.  Poor  man  !  The  dead 
have  nearly  as  much  chance  of  revisiting  their  earthly 
homes  as  the  self-banished  Wakefield. 

Would  that  I  had  a  folio  to  write,  instead  of  an 
article  of  a  dozen  pages!  Then  might  I  exemplify 
how  an  influence  beyond  our  control  lays  its  strong 
hand  on  every  deed  which  we  do,  and  weaves  its  con 
sequences  into  an  iron  tissue  of  necessity.  Wakefield 
is  spell-bound.  We  must  leave  him,  for  ten  years  or 
so,  to  haunt  around  his  house,  without  once  crossing 
the  threshold,  and  to  be  faithful  to  his  wife,  with  all 
the  affection  of  which  his  heart  is  capable,  while  he  is 
slowly  fading  out  of  hers.  Long  since,  it  must  be  re 
marked,  he  had  lost  the  perception  of  singularity  in 
his  conduct. 

Now  for  a  scene !  Amid  the  throng  of  a  London 
street  we  distinguish  a  man,  now  waxing  elderly,  with 
few  characteristics  to  attract  careless  observers,  yet 


WAKEF1ELD.  161 

bearing,  in  his  whole  aspect,  the  handwriting  of  no 
common  fate,  for  such  as  have  the  skill  to  read  it.  He 
is  meagre ;  his  low  and  narrow  forehead  is  deeply 
wrinkled;  his  eves,  small  and  lustreless,  sometimes 
wander  apprehensively  about  him,  but  oftener  seem  to 
look  inward.  He  bends  his  head,  and  moves  with  an 
indescribable  obliquity  of  gait,  as  if  unwilling  to  dis 
play  his  full  front  to  the  world.  Watch  him  long 
enough  to  see  what  we  have  described,  and  you  will 
allow  that  circumstances  —  which  often  produce  re 
markable  men  from  nature's  ordinary  handiwork  — 
have  produced  one  such  here.  Next,  leaving  him  to 
sidle  along  the  footwalk,  cast  your  eyes  in  the  opposite 
direction,  where  a  portly  female,  considerably  in  the 
wane  of  life,  with  a  prayer-book  in  her  hand,  is  pro 
ceeding  to  yonder  church.  She  has  the  placid  mien  of 
settled  widowhood.  Her  regrets  have  either  died  awav, 
or  have  become  so  essential  to  her  heart,  that  they 
would  be  poorly  exchanged  for  joy.  Just  as  the  lean 
man  and  well-conditioned  woman  are  passing,  a  slight 
obstruction  occurs,  and  brings  these  two  figures  di 
rectly  in  contact.  Their  hands  touch  ;  the  pressure  of 
the  crowd  forces  her  bosom  against  his  shoulder  ;  they 
stand,  face  to  face,  staring  into  each  other's  eyes.  Af 
ter  a  ten  years'  separation,  thus  TVakefield  meets  his 
wife! 

The  throng  eddies  away,  and  carries  them  asunder. 
The  sober  widow,  resuming  her  former  pace,  proceeds 
to  church,  but  pauses  in  the  portal,  and  throws  a  per 
plexed  glance  along  the  street.  She  passes  in,  how 
ever,  opening  her  prayer-book  as  she  goes.  And  the 
man !  with  so  wild  a  face  that  busy  and  selfish  Lon 
don  stands  to  gaze  after  him,  he  hurries  to  his  lodgings, 
bolts  the  door,  and  throws  himself  upon  the  bed.  The 

VOL.    I.  11 


162  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

latent  feelings  of  years  break  out ;  his  feeble  mind  ac 
quires  a  brief  energy  from  their  strength  ;  all  the  mis 
erable  strangeness  of  his  life  is  revealed  to  him  at  a 
glance :  and  he  cries  out,  passionately,  "  Wakefield ! 
Wakefield !  You  are  mad !  " 

Perhaps  he  was  so.  The  singularity  of  his  situation 
must  have  so  moulded  him  to  himself,  that,  considered 
in  regard  to  his  fellow-creatures  and  the  business  of 
life,  he  could  not  be  said  to  possess  his  right  mind. 
He  had  contrived,  or  rather  he  had  happened,  to  dis 
sever  himself  from  the  world — to  vanish —  to  give 
up  his  place  and  privileges  with  living  men,  without 
being  admitted  among  the  dead.  The  life  of  a  hermit 
is  nowise  parallel  to  his.  He  was  in  the  bustle  of  the 
city,  as  of  old ;  but  the  crowd  swept  by  and  saw  him 
not ;  he  was,  we  may  figuratively  say,  always  beside  his 
wife  and  at  his  hearth,  yet  must  never  feel  the  warmth 
of  the  one  nor  the  affection  of  the  other.  It  was 
Wakefield' s  unprecedented  fate  to  retain  his  original 
share  of  human  sympathies,  and  to  be  still  involved  in 
human  interests,  while  he  had  lost  his  reciprocal  influ 
ence  on  them.  It  would  be  a  most  curious  speculation 
to  trace  out  the  effect  of  such  circumstances  on  his 
heart  and  intellect,  separately,  and  in  unison.  Yet, 
changed  as  he  was,  he  would  seldom  be  conscious  of  it, 
but  deem  himself  the  same  man  as  ever ;  glimpses  of 
the  truth,  indeed,  would  come,  but  only  for  the  mo 
ment  ;  and  still  he  would  keep  saying,  "  I  shall  soon 
go  back ! "  —  nor  reflect  that  he  had  been  saying  so 
for  twenty  years. 

I  conceive,  also,  that  these  twenty  years  would  ap 
pear,  in  the  retrospect,  scarcely  longer  than  the  week 
to  which  Wakefield  had  at  first  limited  his  absence. 
He  would  look  on  the  affair  as  no  more  than  an  inter 


WAKEFIELD.  163 

lude  in  the  main  business  of  his  life.  When,  after  a 
little  while  more,  he  should  deem  it  time  to  reenter  his 
parlor,  his  wife  would  clap  her  hands  for  joy,  on  be 
holding  the  middle-aged  Mr.  Wakefield.  Alas,  what 
a  mistake !  Would  Time  but  await  the  close  of  our 
favorite  follies,  we  should  be  young  men,  all  of  us,  and 
till  Doomsday. 

One  evening,  in  the  twentieth  year  since  he  vanished, 
Wakefield  is  taking  his  customary  walk  towards  the 
dwelling  which  he  still  calls  his  own.  It  is  a  gusty 
night  of  autumn,  with  frequent  showers  that  patter 
down  upon  the  pavement,  and  are  gone  before  a  man 
can  put  up  his  umbrella.  Pausing  near  the  house, 
Wakefield  discerns,  through  the  parlor  windows  of  the 
second  floor,  the  red  glow  and  the  glimmer  and  fitful 
flash  of  a  comfortable  fire.  On  the  ceiling  appears  a 
grotesque  shadow  of  good  Mrs.  Wakefield.  The  cap, 
the  nose  and  chin,  and  the  broad  waist,  form  an  ad 
mirable  caricature,  which  dances,  moreover,  with  the 
up-flickering  and  down-sinking  blaze,  almost  too  mer 
rily  for  the  shade  of  an  elderly  widow.  At  this  instant 
a  shower  chances  to  fall,  and  is  driven,  by  the  unman 
nerly  gust,  full  into  Wakefield's  face  and  bosom.  He 
is  quite  penetrated  with  its  autumnal  chill.  Shall  he 
stand,  wret  and  shivering  here,  when  his  own  hearth  has 
a  good  fire  to  warm  him,  and  his  own  wife  will  run  to 
fetch  the  gray  coat  and  small-clothes,  which,  doubtless, 
she  has  kept  carefully  in  the  closet  of  their  bed  cham 
ber  ?  No !  Wakefield  is  no  such  fool.  He  ascends 
the  ^steps  —  heavily !  —  for  twenty  years  have  stiffened 
his  legs  since  he  came  down  —  but  he  knows  it  not. 
Stay,  Wakefield !  Would  you  go  to  the  sole  home 
that  is  left  you  ?  Then  step  into  your  grave !  The 
door  opens.  As  he  passes  in,  we  have  a  parting 


164  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

glimpse  of  his  visage,  and  recognize  the  crafty  smile, 
which  was  the  precursor  of  the  little  joke  that  he  has 
ever  since  been  playing  off  at  his  wife's  expense.  How 
unmercifully  has  he  quizzed  the  poor  woman !  Well,  a 
good  night's  rest  to  Wakefield ! 

This  happy  event  —  supposing  it  to  be  such  —  could 
only  have  occurred  at  an  unpremeditated  moment. 
We  will  not  follow  our  friend  across  the  threshold. 
He  has  left  us  much  food  for  thought,  a  portion  of 
which  shall  lend  its  wisdom  to  a  moral,  and  be  shaped 
into  a  figure.  Amid  the  seeming  confusion  of  our 
mysterious  world,  individuals  are  so  nicely  adjusted  to 
a  system,  and  systems  to  one  another  and  to  a  whole, 
that,  by  stepping  aside  for  a  moment,  a  man  exposes 
himself  to  a  fearful  risk  of  losing  his  place  forever. 
Like  Wakefield,  he  may  become,  as  it  were,  the  Out 
cast  of  the  Universe. 


••/<.* 


A   RILL   FROM  THE   TOWN   PUMP. 

<  SCENE  —  the  corner  of  two  principal  streets.1     The  TOWN  PCMP 
talking  through  its  nose.} 

Noox,  by  the  North  clock!  Noon,  by  the  east! 
High  noon,  too,  by  these  hot  sunbeams  which  fall, 
scarcely  aslope,  upon  my  head,  and  almost  make  the 
water  bubble  and  smoke  in  the  trough  under  my  nose. 
Truly,  we  public  characters  have  a  tough  time  of  it ! 
And,  among  all  the  town  officers,  chosen  at  March 
meeting,  where  is  he  that  sustains,  for  a  single  year, 
the  burden  of  such  manifold  duties  as  are  imposed, 
in  perpetuity,  upon  the  Town  Pump  ?  The  title  of 
"  town  treasurer  "  is  rightfully  mine,  as  guardian  of 
the  best  treasure  that  the  town  has.  The  overseers  of 
the  poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  I 
provide  bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expense  to 
him  that  pays  taxes.  I  am  at  the  head  of  the  fire  de 
partment,  and  one  of  the  physicians  to  the  board  of 
health.  As  a  keeper  of  the  peace,  all  water  drinkers 
will  confess  me  equal  to  the  constable.  I  perform 
some  of  the  duties  of  the  town  clerk,  by  promulgating 
public  notices,  when  they  are  posted  on  my  front.  To 
speak  within  bounds,  I  am  the  chief  person  of  the 
municipality,  and  exhibit,  moreover,  an  admirable  pat 
tern  to  my  brother  officers,  by  the  cool,  steady,  up 
right,  downright,  and  impartiaf  discharge  of  my  busi 
ness,  and  the  constancy  with  which  I  stand  to  my  post. 
Summer  or  winter,  nobody  seeks  me  in  vain  ;  for,  aU 
1  Essex  and  Washington  Streets,  Salein. 


166  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

day  long,  I  am  seen  at  the  busiest  corner,  just  above 
the  market,  stretching  out  my  arms  to  rich  and  poor 
alike  ;  and  at  night,  I  hold  a  lantern  over  my  head, 
both  to  show  where  I  am,  and  keep  people  out  of  the 
gutters. 

At  this  sultry  noontide,  I  am  cupbearer  to  the 
parched  populace,  for  whose  benefit  an  iron  goblet  is 
chained  to  my  waist.  Like  a  dram  seller  on  the  mall, 
at  muster  day,  I  cry  aloud  to  all  and  sundry,  in  my 
plainest  accents,  and  at  the  very  tiptop  of  my  voice : 
Here  it  is,  gentlemen!  Here  is  the  good  liquor! 
Walk  up,  walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  walk  up! 
Here  is  the  superior  stuff !  Here  is  the  unadulterated 
ale  of  father  Adam  —  better  than  Cognac,  Hollands, 
Jamaica,  strong  beer,  or  wine  of  any  price  ;  here  it  is, 
by  the  hogshead  or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cent  to 
pay !  Walk  up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  your 
selves  ! 

It  were  a  pity  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no 
customers.  Here  they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen ! 
Quaff,  and  away  again,  so  as  to  keep  yourselves  in  a 
nice  cool  sweat.  You,  my  friend,  will  need  another 
cupful,  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your  throat,  if  it  be  as 
thick  there  as  it  is  on  your  cowhide  shoes.  I  see  that 
you  have  trudged  half  a  score  of  miles  to-day ;  and, 
like  a  wise  man,  have  passed  by  the  taverns,  and 
stopped  at  the  running  brooks  and  well  curbs.  Other 
wise,  betwixt  heat  without  and  fire  within,  you  would 
have  been  burned  to  a  cinder,  or  melted  down  to  noth 
ing  at  all,  in  the  fashion  of  a  jelly-fish.  Drink,  and 
make  room  for  that  other  fellow,  who  seeks  my  aid  to 
quench  the  fiery  fever  of  last  night's  potations,  which 
he  drained  from  no  cup  of  mine.  Welcome,  most 
rubicund  sir !  You  and  I  have  been  great  strangers, 


A    RILL   FROM   THE    TOWN  PUMP.         167 

hitherto  ;  nor,  to  confess  the  truth,  will  my  nose  be 
anxious  for  a  closer  intimacy,  till  the  fumes  of  your 
breath  be  a  little  less  potent.  Mercy  on  you,  man  !  the 
water  absolutely  hisses  down  your  red-hot  gullet,  and 
is  converted  quite  to  steam  in  the  miniature  tophet 
which  you  mistake  for  a  stomach.  Fill  again,  and 
tell  me,  on  the  word  of  an  honest  toper,  did  you  ever, 
in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any  kind  of  a  dram  shop,  spend 
the  price  of  your  children's  food  for  a  swig  half  so 
delicious?  Now,  for  the  first  time  these  ten  years, 
you  know  the  flavor  of  cold  water.  Good-by ;  and, 
whenever  you  are  thirsty,  remember  that  I  keep  a 
constant  supply  at  the  old  stand.  Who  next?  O, 
my  little  friend,  you  are  let  loose  from  school,  and 
come  hither  to  scrub  your  blooming  face,  and  drown 
the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the  ferule,  and  other 
school-boy  troubles,  in  a  draught  from  the  Town  Pump. 
Take  it,  pure  as  the  current  of  your  young  life.  Take 
it,  and  may  your  heart  and  tongue  never  be  scorched 
with  a  fiercer  thirst  than  now !  There,  my  dear  child, 
put  down  the  cup,  and  yield  your  place  to  this  elderly 
gentleman,  who  treads  so  tenderly  over  the  paving- 
stones,  that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid  of  breaking  them. 
What !  he  limps  by,  without  so  much  as  thanking  me, 
as  if  my  hospitable  offers  were  meant  only  for  people 
who  have  no  wine  cellars.  Well,  well,  sir — no  harm 
done,  I  hope !  Go  draw  the  cork,  tip  the  decanter ; 
but,  when  your  great  toe  shall  set  you  a-roaring,  it 
will  be  no  affair  of  mine.  If  gentlemen  love  the  pleas 
ant  titillation  of  the  gout,  it  is  all  one  to  the  Town 
Pump.  This  thirsty  dog,  with  his  red  tongue  lolling 
out,  does  not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but  stands  on  his 
hind  legs,  and  laps  eagerly  out  of  the  trough.  See 
how  lightly  he  capers  away  again !  Jowler,  did  your 
worship  ever  have  the  gout  ? 


168  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Are  you  all  satisfied?  Then  wipe  your  mouths, 
my  good  friends ;  and,  while  my  spout  has  a  moment's 
leisure,  I  will  delight  the  town  with  a  few  historical 
reminiscences.  In  far  antiquity,  beneath  a  darksome 
shadow  of  venerable  boughs,  a  spring  bubbled  out  of 
the  leaf-strewn  earth,  in  the  very  spot  where  you  now 
behold  me,  on  the  sunny  pavement.  The  water  was 
as  bright  and  clear,  and  deemed  as  precious,  as  liquid 
diamonds.  The  Indian  sagamores  drank  of  it  from 
time  immemorial,  till  the  fatal  deluge  of  the  fire  water 
burst  upon  the  red  men,  and  swept  their  whole  race 
away  from  the  cold  fountains.  Endicott  and  his  fol 
lowers  came  next,  and  often  knelt  down  to  drink,  dip 
ping  their  long  beards  in  the  spring.  The  richest 
goblet,  then,  was  of  birch  bark.  Governor  Winthrop, 
after  a  journey  afoot  from  Boston,  drank  here,  out  of 
the  hollow  of  his  hand.  The  elder  Higginson  here 
wet  his  palm,  and  laid  it  on  the  brow  of  the  first  town- 
born  child.  For  many  years  it  was  the  watering-place, 
and,  as  it  were,  the  washbowl  of  the  vicinity  —  whither 
all  decent  folks  resorted,  to  purify  their  visages  and 
gaze  at  them  afterwards  —  at  least  the  pretty  maidens 
did  —  in  the  mirror  which  it  made.  On  Sabbath  days, 
whenever  a  babe  was  to  be  baptized,  the  sexton  filled 
his  basin  here,  and  placed  it  on  the  communion  table 
of  the  humble  meeting-house,  which  partly  covered  the 
site  of  yonder  stately  brick  one.  Thus,  one  generation 
after  another  was  consecrated  to  Heaven  by  its  waters, 
and  cast  their  waxing  and  waning  shadows  into  its 

O  O 

glassy  bosom,  and  vanished  from  the  earth,  as  if  mor 
tal  life  were  but  a  flitting  image  in  a  fountain.  Finally, 
the  fountain  vanished  also.  Cellars  were  dug  on  all 
sides,  and  cartloads  of  gravel  flung  upon  its  source, 
whence  oozed  a  turbid  stream,  forming  a  mud  puddle, 


A    RILL    FROM   THE    TOWN  PUMP.         169 

at  the  corner  of  two  streets.  In  the  hot  months,  when 
its  refreshment  was  most  needed,  the  dust  flew  in 
clouds  over  the  forgotten  birthplace  of  the  waters,  now 
their  grave.  But,  in  the  course  of  time,  a  Town  Pump 
was  sunk  into  the  source  of  the  ancient  spring ;  and 
when  the  first  decayed,  another  took  its  place  —  and 
then  another,  and  still  another  —  till  here  stand  I, 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  to  serve  you  with  my  iron  goblet. 
Drink,  and  be  refreshed !  The  water  is  as  pure  and 
cold  as  that  which  slaked  the  thirst  of  the  red  sagamore 
beneath  the  aged  boughs,  though  now  the  gem  of  the 
wilderness  is  treasured  under  these  hot  stones,  where 
no  shadow  falls  but  from  the  brick  buildings.  And 
be  it  the  moral  of  my  story,  that,  as  this  wasted  and 
long-lost  fountain  is  now  known  and  prized  again,  so 
shall  the  virtues  of  cold  water,  too  little  valued  since 
your  fathers'  days,  be  recognized  by  all. 

Your  pardon,  good  people!  I  must  interrupt  my 
stream  of  eloquence,  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of 
water,  to  replenish  the  trough  for  this  teamster  and 
his  two  yoke  of  oxen,  who  have  come  from  Topsfield, 
or  somewhere  along  that  way.  No  part  of  my  busi 
ness  is  pleasanter  than  the  watering  of  cattle.  Look ! 
how  rapidly  they  lower  the  watermark  on  the  sides  of 
the  trough,  till  their  capacious  stomachs  are  moistened 
with  a  gallon  or  two  apiece,  and  they  can  afford  time 
to  breathe  it  in,  with  sighs  of  calm  enjoyment.  Now 
they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the  brim  of  their 
monstrous  drinking  vessel.  An  ox  is  your  true  toper. 

But  I  perceive,  my  dear  auditors,  that  you  are  im 
patient  for  the  remainder  of  my  discourse.  Impute  it, 
I  beseech  you,  to  no  defect  of  modesty,  if  I  insist  a 
little  longer  on  so  fruitful  a  topic  as  my  own  multifa 
rious  merits.  It  is  altogether  for  your  good.  The 


170  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

better  you  think  of  me,  the  better  men  and  women 
will  you  find  yourselves.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  my 
all-important  aid  on  washing  days  ;  though,  on  that 
account  alone,  I  might  call  myself  the  household  god 
of  a  hundred  families.  Far  be  it  from  me  also  to  hint, 
my  respectable  friends,  at  the  show  of  dirty  faces 
which  you  would  present,  without  my  pains  to  keep 
you  clean.  Nor  will  I  remind  you  how  often,  when 
the  midnight  bells  make  you  tremble  for  your  combus 
tible  town,  you  have  fled  to  the  Town  Pump,  and 
found  me  always  at  my  post,  firm  amid  the  confusion, 
and  ready  to  drain  my  vital  current  in  your  behalf. 
Neither  is  it  worth  while  to  lay  much  stress  on  my 
claims  to  a  medical  diploma,  as  the  physician  whose 
simple  rule  of  practice  is  preferable  to  all  the  nauseous 
lore  which  has  found  men  sick  or  left  them  so,  since 
the  days  of  Hippocrates.  Let  us  take  a  broader  view 
of  my  beneficial  influence  on  mankind. 

No ;  these  are  trifles  compared  with  the  merits 
which  wise  men  concede  to  me  —  if  not  in  my  single 
self,  yet  as  the  representative  of  a  class  —  of  being  the 
grand  reformer  of  the  age.  From  my  spout,  and  such 
spouts  as  mine,  must  flow  the  stream  that  shall  cleanse 
our  earth  of  the  vast  portion  of  its  crime  and  anguish, 
which  has  gushed  from  the  fiery  fountains  of  the  still. 
In  this  mighty  enterprise,  the  cow  shall  be  my  great 
confederate.  Milk  and  water!  The  TOWN  PUMP  and 
the  Cow !  Such  is  the  glorious  copartnership  that 
shall  tear  down  the  distilleries  and  brewhouses,  uproot 
the  vineyards,  shatter  the  cider  presses,  ruin  the  tea 
and  coffee  trade,  and,  finally,  monopolize  the  whole 
business  of  quenching  thirst.  Blessed  consummation ! 
Then,  Poverty  shall  pass  away  from  the  land,  findmg 
no  hovel  so  wretched  where  her  squalid  form  may 


A    RILL   FROM    THE    TOWN  PUMP.         171 

shelter  itself.  Then  Disease,  for  lack  of  other  victims, 
shall  gnaw  its  own  heart,  and  die.  Then  Sin,  if  she 
do  not  die,  shall  lose  half  her  strength.  Until  now, 
the  frenzy  of  hereditary  fever  has  raged  in  the  human 
blood,  transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  and  rekindled,  in 
every  generation,  by  fresh  draughts  of  liquid  flame. 
When  that  inward  fire  shall  be  extinguished,  the  heat 
of  passion  cannot  but  grow  cool,  and  war  —  the  drunk 
enness  of  nations  —  perhaps  will  cease.  At  least,  there 
will  be  no  war  of  households.  The  husband  and  wife, 
drinking  deep  of  peaceful  joy,  —  a  calm  bliss  of  tem 
perate  affections,  —  shall  pass  hand  in  hand  through 
life,  and  lie  down,  not  reluctantly,  at  its  protracted 
close.  To  them,  the  past  will  be  no  turmoil  of  mad 
dreams,  nor  the  future  an  eternity  of  such  moments  as 
follow  the  delirium  of  the  drunkard.  Their  dead  faces 
shall  express  what  their  spirits  were,  and  are  to  be,  by 
a  lingering  smile  of  memory  and  hope. 

Ahem !  Dry  work,  this  speechifying ;  especially  to 
an  unpractised  orator.  I  never  conceived,  till  now, 
what  toil  the  temperance  lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake. 
Hereafter,  they  shall  have  the  business  to  themselves. 
Do,  some  kind  Christian,  pump  a  stroke  or  two,  just 
to  wet  my  whistle.  Thank  you,  sir !  My  dear  hearers, 
when  the  world  shall  have  been  regenerated  by  my 
instrumentality,  you  will  collect  your  useless  vats  and 
liquor  casks  into  one  great  pile,  and  make  a  bonfire 
in  honor  of  the  Town  Pump.  And,  when  I  shall 
have  decayed,  like  my  predecessors,  then,  if  you  revere 
my  memory,  let  a  marble  fountain,  richly  sculptured, 
take  my  place  upon  this  spot.  Such  monuments  should 
be  erected  everywhere,  and  inscribed  with  the  names 
of  the  distinguished  champions  of  my  cause.  Now 
listen,  for  something  very  important  is  to  come  next. 


172  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

There  are  two  or  three  honest  friends  of  mine  —  and 
true  friends,  I  know,  they  are  —  who  nevertheless,  by 
their  fiery  pugnacity  in  my  behalf,  do  put  me  in  fear 
ful  hazard  of  a  broken  nose  or  even  a  total  overthrow 
upon  the  pavement,  and  the  loss  of  the  treasure  which 
I  guard.  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  let  this  fault  be 
amended.  Is  it  decent,  think  you,  to  get  tipsy  with 
zeal  for  temperance,  and  take  up  the  honorable  cause 
of  the  Town  Pump  in  the  style  of  a  toper  fighting  for 
his  brandy  bottle?  Or,  can  the  excellent  qualities  of 
cold  water  be  not  otherwise  exemplified  than  by  plung 
ing,  slapdash,  into  hot  water,  and  wofully  scalding 
yourselves  and  other  people  ?  Trust  me,  they  may.  In 
the  moral  warfare  which  you  are  to  wage — and,  in 
deed,  in  the  whole  conduct  of  your  lives — you  cannot 
choose  a  better  example  than  myself,  who  have  never 
permitted  the  dust  and  sultry  atmosphere,  the  turbu 
lence  and  manifold  disquietudes  of  the  world  around 
me,  to  reach  that  deep,  calm  well  of  purity,  which  may 
be  called  my  soul.  And  whenever  I  pour  out  that 
soul,  it  is  to  cool  earth's  fever  or  cleanse  its  stains. 

One  o'clock!  Nay,  then,  if  the  dinner  bell  begins 
to  speak,  I  may  as  well  hold  my  peace.  Here  comes 
a  pretty  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance,  with  a  large 
stone  pitcher  for  me  to  fill.  May  she  draw  a  husband, 
while  drawing  her  water,  as  Rachel  did  of  old.  Hold 
out  your  vessel,  my  dear!  There  it  is,  full  to  the 
brim ;  so  now  run  home,  peeping  at  your  sweet  image 
in  the  pitcher  as  you  go ;  and  forget  not,  in  a  glass  of 
my  own  liquor,  to  drink  —  "  SUCCESS  TO  THE  TCWN 
PUMP!" 


THE   GREAT  CARBUNCLE.1 

A  MYSTERY   OF   THE   WHITE   MOUNTAIN'S. 

AT  nightfall,  once  in  the  olden  time,  on  the  rugged 
side  of  one  of  the  Crystal  Hills,  a  party  of  adventurers 
were  refreshing  themselves,  after  a  toilsome  and  fruit 
less  quest  for  the  Great  Carbuncle.  They  had  come 
thither,  not  as  friends  nor  partners  in  the  enterprise, 
but  each,  save  one  youthful  pair,  impelled  by  his  own 
selfish  and  solitary  longing  for  this  wondrous  gem. 
Their  feeling  of  brotherhood,  however,  was  strong 
enough  to  induce  them  to  contribute  a  mutual  aid  in 
building  a  rude  hut  of  branches,  and  kindling  a  great 
fire  of  shattered  pines,  that  had  drifted  down  the  head 
long  current  of  the  Amonoosuck,  on  the  lower  bank  of 
which  they  were  to  pass  the  night.  There  was  but  one 
of  their  number,  perhaps,  who  had  become  so  estranged 
from  natural  sympathies,  by  the  absorbing  spell  of  the 
pursuit,  as  to  acknowledge  no  satisfaction  at  the  sight 
of  human  faces,  in  the  remote  and  solitary  region 
whither  they  had  ascended.  A  vast  extent  of  wilder 
ness  lay  between  them  and  the  nearest  settlement, 
while  scant  a  mile  above  their  heads  was  that  black 
verge  where  the  hills  throw  off  their  shaggy  mantle 
of  forest  trees,  and  either  robe  themselves  in  clouds 

1  The  Indian  tradition,  on  which  this  somewhat  extravagant  tale  is 
founded,  is  both  too  wild  and  too  l>eautiful  to  be  adequately  wrought 
up  in  prose.  Sullivan,  in  his  History  of  Maine,  written  since  the  Rev 
olution,  remarks,  that  even  then  the  existence  of  the  Great  Carbuncle 
was  not  entirely  discredited. 


174  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

or  tower  naked  into  the  sky.  The  roar  of  the  Amo- 
noosuck  would  have  been  too  awful  for  endurance  if 
only  a  solitary  man  had  listened,  while  the  mountain 
stream  talked  with  the  wind. 

The  adventurers,  therefore,  exchanged  hospitable 
greetings,  and  welcomed  one  another  to  the  hut,  where 
each  man  was  the  host,  and  all  were  the  guests  of  the 
whole  company.  They  spread  their  individual  sup 
plies  of  food  on  the  flat  surface  of  a  rock,  and  partook 
of  a  general  repast ;  at  the  close  of  which,  a  sentiment 
of  good  fellowship  was  perceptible  among  the  party, 
though  repressed  by  the  idea,  that  the  renewed  search 
for  the  Great  Carbuncle  must  make  them  strangers 
again  in  the  morning.  Seven  men  and  one  young 
woman,  they  warmed  themselves  together  at  the  fire, 
which  extended  its  bright  wall  along  the  whole  front 
of  their  wigwam.  As  they  observed  the  various  and 
contrasted  figures  that  made  up  the  assemblage,  each 
man  looking  like  a  caricature  of  himself,  in  the  un 
steady  light  that  flickered  over  him,  they  came  mutu 
ally  to  the  conclusion,  that  an  odder  society  had  never 
met,  in  city  or  wilderness,  on  mountain  or  plain. 

The  eldest  of  the  group,  a  tall,  lean,  weather-beaten 
man,  some  sixty  years  of  age,  was  clad  in  the  skins  of 
wild  animals,  whose  fashion  of  dress  he  did  well  to 
imitate,  since  the  deer,  the  wolf,  and  the  bear,  had 
long  been  his  most  intimate  companions.  He  was  one 
of  those  ill-fated  mortals,  such  as  the  Indians  told  of, 
whom,  in  their  early  youth,  the  Great  Carbuncle  srnote 
with  a  peculiar  madness,  and  became  the  passionate 
dream  of  their  existence.  All  who  visited  that  region 
knew  him  as  the  Seeker,  and  by  no  other  name.  As 
none  could  remember  when  he  first  took  up  the  search, 
there  went  a  fable  in  the  valley  of  the  Saco,  that'foi 


THE   GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  17o 

his  inordinate  lust  after  the  Great  Carbuncle,  he  had 
been  condemned  to  wander  among  the  mountains  till 
the  end  of  time,  still  with  the  same  feverish  hopes  at 
sunrise — the  same  despair  at  eve.  Near  this  misera 
ble  Seeker  sat  a  little  elderly  personage,  wearing  a 
high-crowned  hat,  shaped  somewhat  like  a  crucible. 
He  was  from  beyond  the  sea,  a  Doctor  Cacaphodel, 
who  had  wilted  and  dried  himself  into  a  mummy  by 
continually  stooping  over  charcoal  furnaces,  and  in 
haling  unwholesome  fumes  during  his  researches  in 
chemistry  and  alchemy.  It  was  told  of  him,  whether 
truly  or  not,  that,  at  the  commencement  of  his  studies, 
he  had  drained  his  body  of  all  its  richest  blood,  and 
wasted  it,  with  other  inestimable  ingredients,  in  an 
unsuccessful  experiment  —  and  had  never  been  a  well 
man  since.  Another  of  the  adventurers  was  Master 
Ichabod  Pigsnort,  a  weighty  merchant  and  selectman 
of  Boston,  and  an  elder  of  the  famous  Mr.  Norton's 
church.  His  enemies  had  a  ridiculous  story  that  Mas 
ter  Pigsnort  was  accustomed  to  spend  a  whole  hour 
after  prayer  time,  every  morning  and  evening,  in  wal 
lowing  naked  among  an  immense  quantity  of  pine-tree 
shillings,  which  were  the  earliest  silver  coinage  of  Mas 
sachusetts.  The  fourth  whom  we  shall  notice  had  no 
name  that  his  companions  knew  of,  and  was  chiefly 
distinguished  by  a  sneer  that  always  contorted  his  thin 
visage,  and  by  a  prodigious  pair  of  spectacles,  which 
were  supposed  to  deform  and  discolor  the  whole  face 
of  nature,  to  this  gentleman's  perception.  The  fifth 
adventurer  likewise  lacked  a  name,  which  was  the 
greater  pity,  as  he  appeared  to  be  a  poet.  He  was  a 
bright-eyed  man,  but  wofully  pined  away,  which  was 
no  more  than  natural,  if,  as  some  people  affirmed,  his 
ordinary  diet  was  fog,  morning  mist,  and  a  slice  of  the 


176  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

densest  cloud  within  his  reach,  sauced  with  moonshine, 
whenever  he  could  get  it.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  po 
etry  which  flowed  from  him  had  a  smack  of  all  these 
dainties.  The  sixth  of  the  party  was  a  young  man  of 
haughty  mien,  and  sat  somewhat  apart  from  the  rest, 
wearing  his  plumed  hat  loftily  among  his  elders,  while 
the  fire  glittered  on  the  rich  embroidery  of  his  dress, 
and  gleamed  intensely  on  the  jewelled  pommel  of  his 
sword.  This  was  the  Lord  de  Vere,  who,  when  at 
home,  was  said  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  the  burial 
vault  of  his  dead  progenitors,  rummaging  their  mouldy 
coffins  in  search  of  all  the  earthly  pride  and  vainglory 
that  was  hidden  among  bones  and  dust ;  so  that,  be 
sides  his  own  share,  he  had  the  collected  haughtiness 
of  his  whole  line  of  ancestry. 

Lastly,  there  was  a  handsome  youth  in  rustic  garb, 
and  by  his  side  a  blooming  little  person,  in  whom  a 
delicate  shade  of  maiden  reserve  was  just  melting  into 
the  rich  glow  of  a  young  wife's  affection.  Her  name 
was  Hannah,  and  her  husband's  Matthew ;  two  homely 
names,  yet  well  enough  adapted  to  the  simple  pair, 
who  seemed  strangely  out  of  place  among  the  whimsi 
cal  fraternity  whose  wits  had  been  set  agog  by  the 
Great  Carbuncle. 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  one  hut,  in  the  bright  blaze 
of  the  same  fire,  sat  this  varied  group  of  adventurers, 
all  so  intent  upon  a  single  object,  that,  of  whatever 
else  they  began  to  speak,  their  closing  words  were 
sure  to  be  illuminated  with  the  Great  Carbuncle. 
Several  related  the  circumstances  that  brought  them 
thither.  One  had  listened  to  a  traveller's  tale  of  this 
marvellous  stone  in  his  own  distant  country,  and  had 
immediately  been  seized  with  such  a  thirst  for  behold 
ing  it  as  could  only  be  quenched  in  its  intensesj 


THE   GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  Ill 

lustre.  Another,  so  long  ago  as  when  the  famous 
Captain  Smith  visited  these  coasts,  had  seen  it  blazing 
far  at  sea,  and  had  felt  no  rest  in  all  the  intervening 
years  till  now  that  he  took  up  the  search.  A  third, 
being  encamped  on  a  hunting  expedition  full  forty 
miles  south  of  the  White  Mountains,  awoke  at  mid 
night,  and  beheld  the  Great  Carbuncle  gleaming  like 
a  meteor,  so  that  the  shadows  of  the  trees  fell  back 
ward  from  it.  They  spoke  of  the  innumerable  at 
tempts  which  had  been  made  to  reach  the  spot,  and  of 
the  singular  fatality  which  had  hitherto  withheld  suc 
cess  from  all  adventurers,  though  it  might  seem  so 
easy  to  follow  to  its  source  a  light  that  overpowered 
the  moon,  and  almost  matched  the  sun.  It  was  ob 
servable  that  each  smiled  scornfully  at  the  madness  of 
every  other  in  anticipating  better  fortune  than  the 
past,  yet  nourished  a  scarcely  hidden  conviction  that 
he  would  himself  be  the  favored  one.  As  if  to  allay 
their  too  sanguine  hopes,  they  recurred  to  the  Indian 
traditions  that  a  spirit  kept  watch  about  the  gem,  and 
bewildered  those  who  sought  it  either  by  removing  it 
from  peak  to  peak  of  the  higher  hills,  or  by  calling  up 
a  mist  from  the  enchanted  lake  over  which  it  hung. 
But  these  tales  were  deemed  unworthy  of  credit,  all 
professing  to  believe  that  the  search  had  been  baffled 
by  want  of  sagacity  or  perseverance  in  the  adventur 
ers,  or  such  other  causes  as  might  naturally  obstruct 
the  passage  to  any  given  point  among  the  intricacies 
of  forest,  valley,  and  mountain. 

In  a  pause  of  the  conversation  the  wearer  of  the 
prodigious  spectacles  looked  round  upon  the  party, 
making  each  individual,  in  turn,  the  object  of  the 
sneer  which  invariably  dwelt  upon  his  countenance. 

"  So,  fellow-pilgrims,"  said  he,  "  here  we  are,  seven 

VOL.   I.  12 


178  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

wise  men,  and  one  fair  damsel  —  who,  doubtless,  is  as 
wise  as  any  graybeard  of  the  company :  here  we  are, 
I  say,  all  bound  on  the  same  goodly  enterprise.  Me- 
thinks,  now,  it  were  not  amiss  that  each  of  us  declare 
what  he  proposes  to  do  with  the  Great  Carbuncle, 
provided  he  have  the  good  hap  to  clutch  it.  What 
says  our  friend  in  the  bear  skin  ?  How  mean  you, 
good  sir,  to  enjoy  the  prize  which  you  have  been  seek 
ing,  the  Lord  knows  how  long,  among  the  Crystal 
Hills?" 

"  How  enjoy  it !  "  exclaimed  the  aged  Seeker,  bit 
terly.  "  I  hope  for  no  enjoyment  from  it ;  that  folly 
has  passed  long  ago !  I  keep  up  the  search  for  this 
accursed  stone  because  the  vain  ambition  of  my  youth 
has  become  a  fate  upon  me  in  old  age.  The  pur 
suit  alone  is  my  strength,  —  the  energy  of  my  soul,  — 
the  warmth  of  my  blood,  —  and  the  pith  and  marrow 
of  my  bones !  Were  I  to  turn  my  back  upon  it  I 
should  fall  down  dead  on  the  hither  side  of  the  Notch, 
which  is  the  gateway  of  this  mountain  region.  Yet 
not  to  have  my  wasted  lifetime  back  again  would  I 
give  up  my  hopes  of  the  Great  Carbuncle !  Having 
found  it,  I  shall  bear  it  to  a  certain  cavern  that  I  wot 
of,  and  there,  grasping  it  in  my  arms,  lie  down  and 
die,  and  keep  it  buried  with  me  forever." 

"  O  wretch,  regardless  of  the  interests  of  science  !  " 
cried  Doctor  Cacaphodel,  with  philosophic  indigna 
tion.  "  Thou  art  not  worthy  to  behold,  even  from 
afar  off,  the  lustre  of  this  most  precious  gem  that  ever 
was  concocted  in  the  laboratory  of  Nature.  Mine  is 
the  sole  purpose  for  which,  a  wise  man  may  desire  the 
possession  of  the  Great  Carbuncle.  Immediately*  on 
obtaining  it  — for  I  have  a  presentiment,  good  people, 
that  the  prize  is  reserved  to  crown  my  scientific  repu 


THE    GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  179 

tation  —  I  shall  return  to  Europe,  and  employ  my  re 
maining  years  in  reducing  it  to  its  first  elements.  A 
portion  of  the  stone  will  I  grind  to  impalpable  pow 
der  ;  other  parts  shall  be  dissolved  in  acids,  or  what 
ever  solvents  will  act  upon  so  admirable  a  composi 
tion  ;  and  the  remainder  I  design  to  melt  in  the  cruci 
ble,  or  set  on  fire  with  the  blow-pipe.  By  these  various 
methods  I  shall  gain  an  accurate  analysis,  and  finally 
bestow  the  result  of  my  labors  upon  the  world  in  a 
folio  volume." 

44  Excellent !  "  quoth  the  man  with  the  spectacles. 
"  Nor  need  you  hesitate,  learned  sir,  on  account  of  the 
necessary  destruction  of  the  gem  ;  since  the  perusal 
of  your  folio  may  teach  every  mother's  son  of  us  to 
concoct  a  Great  Carbuncle  of  his  own." 

44  But,  verily,"  said  Master  Ichabod  Pigsnort,  '*  for 
mine  own  part  I  object  to  the  making  of  these  coun 
terfeits,  as  being  calculated  to  reduce  the  marketable 
value  of  the  true  gem.  I  tell  ye  frankly,  sirs,  I  have 
an  interest  in  keeping  up  the  price.  Here  have  I 
quitted  my  regular  traffic,  leaving  my  warehouse  in 
the  care  of  my  clerks,  and  putting  my  credit  to  great 
hazard,  and,  furthermore,  have  put  myself  in  peril  of 
death  or  captivity  by  the  accursed  heathen  savages  — 
and  all  this  without  daring  to  ask  the  prayers  of  the 
congregation,  because  the  quest  for  the  Great  Car 
buncle  is  deemed  little  better  than  a  traffic  with  the 
Evil  One.  Now  think  ye  that  I  would  have  done  this 
grievous  wrong  to  my  soul,  body,  reputation,  and  es 
tate,  without  a  reasonable  chance  of  profit  ?  " 

44  Not  I,  pious  Master  Pigsnort,"  said  the  man  with 
the  spectacles.  44 1  never  laid  such  a  great  folly  to 
thy  charge." 

44  Truly,  I  hope  not,"  said  the  merchant.     44  Now. 


180  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

as  touching  this  Great  Carbuncle,  I  am  free  to  own 
that  I  have  never  had  a  glimpse  of  it ;  but  be  it  only 
the  hundredth  part  so  bright  as  people  tell,  it  will 
surely  outvalue  the  Great  Mogul's  best  diamond,  which 
he  holds  at  an  incalculable  sum.  Wherefore,  I  am 
minded  to  put  the  Great  Carbuncle  on  shipboard,  and 
voyage  with  it  to  England,  France,  Spain,  Italy,  or 
into  Heathendom,  if  Providence  should  send  me 
thither,  and,  in  a  word,  dispose  of  the  gem  to  the  best 
bidder  among  the  potentates  of  the  earth,  that  he  may 
place  it  among  his  crown  jewels.  If  any  of  ye  have  a 
wiser  plan,  let  him  expound  it." 

"  That  have  I,  thou  sordid  man  ! "  exclaimed  the 
poet.  "  Dost  thou  desire  nothing  brighter  than  gold 
that  thou  wouldst  transmute  all  this  ethereal  lustre 
into  such  dross  as  thou  wallowest  in  already  ?  For 
myself,  hiding  the  jewel  under  my  cloak,  I  shall  hie 
me  back  to  my  attic  chamber,  in  one  of  the  darksome 
alleys  of  London.  There,  night  and  day,  will  I  gaze 
upon  it ;  my  soul  shall  drink  its  radiance ;  it  shall 
be  diffused  throughout  my  intellectual  powers,  and 
gleam  brightly  in  every  line  of  poesy  that  I  indite. 
Thus,  long  ages  after  I  am  gone,  the  splendor  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle  will  blaze  around  my  name  !  " 

"  Well  said,  Master  Poet !  "  cried  he  of  the  specta 
cles.  "  Hide  it  under  thy  cloak,  sayest  thou  ?  Why, 
it  will  gleam  through  the  holes,  and  make  thee  look 
like  a  jack-o'-lantern  !  " 

"  To  think  !  "  ejaculated  the  Lord  de  Vere,  rather 
to  himself  than  his  companions,  the  best  of  whom  he 
held  utterly  unworthy  of  his  intercourse — uto  think 
that  a  fellow  in  a  tattered  cloak  should  talk  of  convey 
ing  the  Great  Carbuncle  to  a  garret  in  Grub  Street  I 
Have  not  I  resolved  within  myself  that  the  whole 


THE   GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  181 

earth  contains  no  fitter  ornament  for  the  great  hall  of 
my  ancestral  castle?  There  shall  it  flame  for  ages, 
making  a  noonday  of  midnight,  glittering  on  the  suits 
of  armor,  the  banners,  and  escutcheons,  that  hang 
around  the  wall,  and  keeping  bright  the  memory  of 
heroes.  Wherefore  have  all  other  adventurers  sought 
the  prize  in  vain  but  that  I  might  win  it,  and  make  it 
a  symbol  of  the  glories  of  our  lofty  line?  And  never, 
on  the  diadem  of  the  White  Mountains,  did  the  Great 
Carbuncle  hold  a  place  half  so  honored  as  is  reserved 
for  it  in  the  hall  of  the  De  Veres !  " 

"  It  is  a  noble  thought,"  said  the  Cynic,  with  an  ob 
sequious  sneer.  "  Yet,  might  I  presume  to  say  so,  the 
gem  would  make  a  rare  sepulchral  lamp,  and  would 
display  the  glories  of  your  lordship's  progenitors  more 
truly  in  the  ancestral  vault  than  in  the  castle  hall." 

"  Nay,  forsooth,"  observed  Matthew,  the  young  rus 
tic,  who  sat  hand  in  hand  with  his  bride,  "  the  gentle 
man  has  bethought  himself  of  a  profitable  use  for  tin's 
bright  stone.  Hannah  here  and  I  are  seeking  it  for  a 
like  purpose." 

"  How,  fellow !  "  exclaimed  his  lordship,  in  surprise. 
"  What  castle  hall  hast  thou  to  hang  it  in?  " 

"  Xo  castle,"  replied  Matthew,  "  but  as  neat  a  cot 
tage  as  any  within  sight  of  the  Crystal  Hills.  Ye 
must  know,  friends,  that  Hannah  and  I,  being  wedded 
the  last  week,  have  taken  up  the  search  of  the  Great 
Carbuncle,  because  we  shall  need  its  light  in  the  long 
winter  evenings  ;  and  it  will  be  such  a  pretty  thing  to 
show  the  neighbors  when  they  visit  us.  It  will  shine 
through  the  house  so  that  we  may  pick  up  a  pin  in 
any  corner,  and  will  set  all  the  windows  aglowing  as 
if  there  were  a  great  fire  of  pine  knots  in  the  chimney. 
Ajid  then  how  pleasant,  when  we  awake  in  the  night, 
to  be  able  to  see  one  another's  faces  ! ' 


182  TWICE-TOLD    TALES, 

There  was  a  general  smile  among  the  adventurers 
at  the  simplicity  of  the  young  couple's  project  in  re 
gard  to  this  wondrous  and  invaluable  stone,  with  which 
the  greatest  monarch  on  earth  might  have  been  proud 
to  adorn  his  palace.  Especially  the  man  with  specta 
cles,  who  had  sneered  at  all  the  company  in  turn,  now 
twisted  his  visage  into  such  an  expression  of  ill-nat 
tired  mirth,  that  Matthew  asked  him,  rather  peevishly, 
what  he  himself  meant  to  do  with  the  Great  Car 
buncle. 

"  The  Great  Carbuncle !  "  answered  the  Cynic,  with 
ineffable  scorn.  "  Why,  you  blockhead,  there  is  110 
such  thing  in  rerum  natura.  I  have  come  three  thou 
sand  miles,  and  am  resolved  to  set  my  foot  on  every 
peak  of  these  mountains,  and  poke  my  head  into  every 
chasm,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  demonstrating  to  the 
satisfaction  of  any  man  one  whit  less  an  ass  than  thy 
self  that  the  Great  Carbuncle  is  all  a  humbug !  " 

Vain  and  foolish  were  the  motives  that  had  brought 
most  of  the  adventurers  to  the  Crystal  Hills ;  but 
none  so  vain,  so  foolish,  and  so  impious  too,  as  that  of 
the  scoffer  with  the  prodigious  spectacles.  He  was 
one  of  those  wretched  and  evil  men  whose  yearnings 
are  downward  to  the  darkness,  instead  of  heaven 
ward,  and  who,  could  they  but  extinguish  the  lights 
which  God  hath  kindled  for  us,  would  count  the  mid 
night  gloom  their  chief est  glory.  As  the  Cynic  spoke, 
several  of  the  party  were  startled  by  a  gleam  of  red 
splendor,  that  showed  the  huge  shapes  of  the  sur 
rounding  mountains  and  the  rock-bestrewn  bed  of  the 
turbulent  river  with  an  illumination  unlike  that  of 
their  fire  on  the  trunks  and  black  boughs  of  the 
forest  trees.  They  listened  for  the  roll  of  thunder, 
but  heard  nothing,  and  were  glad  that  the  tempest 


THE   GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  183 

came  not  near  them.  The  stars,  those  dial  points  of 
heaven,  now  warned  the  adventurers  to  close  their 
eyes  on  the  blazing  logs,  and  open  them,  in  dreams,  to 
the  glow  of  the  Great  Carbuncle. 

The  young  married  couple  had  taken  their  lodgings 
in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  wigwam,  and  were  sepa 
rated  from  the  rest  of  the  party  by  a  curtain  of 
curiously-woven  twigs,  such  as  might  have  hung,  in 
deep  festoons,  around  the  bridal-bower  of  Eve.  The 
modest  little  wife  had  wrought  this  piece  of  tapestry 
while  the  other  guests  were  talking.  She  and  her 
husband  fell  asleep  with  hands  tenderly  clasped,  and 
awoke  from  visions  of  unearthly  radiance  to  meet  the 
more  blessed  light  of  one  another's  eyes.  They  awoke 
at  the  same  instant,  and  with  one  happy  smile  beam 
ing  over  their  two  faces,  which  grew  brighter  with 
their  consciousness  of  the  reality  of  life  and  love. 
But  no  sooner  did  she  recollect  where  they  were,  than 
the  bride  peeped  through  the  interstices  of  the  leafy 
curtain,  and  saw  that  the  outer  room  of  the  hut  was 
deserted. 

"Up,  dear  Matthew!"  cried  she,  in  haste.  "The 
strange  folk  are  all  gone !  Up,  this  very  minute,  or 
we  shall  loose  the  Great  Carbuncle !  " 

In  truth,  so  little  did  these  poor  young  people  de 
serve  the  mighty  prize  which  had  lured  them  thither, 
that  they  had  slept  peacefully  all  night,  and  till  the 
summits  of  the  hills  were  glittering  with  sunshine ; 
while  the  other  adventurers  had  tossed  their  limbs  in 
feverish  wakefulness,  or  dreamed  of  climbing  preci 
pices,  and  set  off  to  realize  their  dreams  with  the 
earliest  peep  of  dawn.  But  Matthew  and  Hannah, 
after  their  calm  rest,  were  as  light  as  two  young  deer, 
and  merely  stopped  to  say  their  prayers  and  wash 


184  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

themselves  in  a  cold  pool  of  the  Amonoosuck,  and 
then  to  taste  a  morsel  of  food,  ere  they  turned  their 
faces  to  the  mountain-side.  It  was  a  sweet  emblem  of 
conjugal  affection,  as  they  toiled  up  the  difficult  as 
cent,  gathering  strength  from  the  mutual  aid  which 
they  afforded.  After  several  little  accidents,  such  as 
a  torn  robe,  a  lost  shoe,  and  the  entanglement  of  Han 
nah's  hair  in  a  bough,  they  reached  the  upper  verge  of 
the  forest,  and  were  now  to  pursue  a  more  adventu 
rous  course.  The  innumerable  trunks  and  heavy  fo 
liage  of  the  trees  had  hitherto  shut  in  their  thoughts, 
which  now  shrank  affrighted  from  the  region  of  wind 
and  cloud  and  naked  rocks  and  desolate  sunshine,  that 
rose  immeasurably  above  them.  They  gazed  back  at 
the  obscure  wilderness  which  they  had  traversed,  and 
longed  to  be  buried  again  in  its  depths  rather  than 
trust  themselves  to  so  vast  and  visible  a  solitude. 

"  Shall  we  go  on?"  said  Matthew,  throwing  his  arm 
round  Hannah's  waist,  both  to  protect  her  and  to  com 
fort  his  heart  by  drawing  her  close  to  it. 

But  the  little  bride,  simple  as  she  was,  had  a 
woman's  love  of  jewels,  and  could  not  forego  the  hope 
of  possessing  the  very  brightest  in  the  world,  in  spite 
of  the  perils  with  which  it  must  be  won. 

"  Let  us  climb  a  little  higher,"  whispered  she,  yet 
tremulously,  as  she  turned  her  face  upward  to  the 
lonely  sky. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Matthew,  mustering  his  manly 
courage  and  drawing  her  along  with  him,  for  she  be 
came  timid  again  the  moment  that  he  grew  bold. 

And  upward,  accordingly,  went  the  pilgrims  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle,  now  treading  upon  the  tops  and 
thickly-interwoven  branches  of  dwarf  pines,  which,  by 
the  growth  of  centuries,  though  mossy  with  age,  had 


THE   GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  185 

barely  reached  three  feet  in  altitude.  Xext,  they 
came  to  masses  and  fragments  of  naked  rock  heaped 
confusedly  together,  like  a  cairn  reared  by  giants  in 
nemory  of  a  giant  chief.  In  this  bleak  realm  of 
ipper  air  nothing  breathed,  nothing  grew ;  there  was 
•io  life  but  what  was  concentrated  in  their  two  hearts, 
they  had  climbed  so  high  that  Nature  herself  seemed 
no  longer  to  keep  them  company.  She  lingered  be 
neath  them,  within  the  verge  of  the  forest  trees,  and 
sent  a  farewell  glance  after  her  children  as  they 
strayed  where  her  own  green  footprints  had  never 
been.  But  soon  they  were  to  be  hidden  from  her  eye. 
Densely  and  dark  the  mists  began  to  gather  below, 
casting  black  spots  of  shadow  on  the  vast  landscape, 
and  sailing  heavily  to  one  centre,  as  if  the  loftiest 
mountain  peak  had  summoned  a  council  of  its  kindred 
clouds.  Finally,  the  vapors  welded  themselves,  as  it 
were,  into  a  mass,  presenting  the  appearance  of  a 
pavement  over  which  the  wanderers  might  have 
trodden,  but  where  they  would  vainly  have  sought  an 
avenue  to  the  blessed  earth  which  they  had  lost.  And 
the  lovers  yearned  to  behold  that  green  earth  again, 
more  intensely,  alas!  than,  beneath  a  clouded  sky, 
ihey  had  ever  desired  a  glimpse  of  heaven.  They 
even  felt  it  a  relief  to  their  desolation  when  the 
mists,  creeping  gradually  up  the  mountain,  concealed 
its  lonely  peak,  and  thus  annihilated,  at  least  for 
them,  the  whole  region  of  visible  space.  But  they 
drew  closer  together,  with  a  fond  and  melancholy 
gaze,  dreading  lest  the  universal  cloud  should  snatch 
them  from  each  other's  sight. 

Still,  perhaps,  they  would  have  been  resolute  to 
elimb  as  far  and  as  high,  between  earth  and  heaven, 
us  they  could  find  foothold,  if  Hannah's  strength  had 


186  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

not  begun  to  fail,  and  with  that,  her  courage  also. 
Her  breath  grew  short.  She  refused  to  burden  her 
husband  with  her  weight,  but  often  tottered  against 
his  side,  and  recovered  herself  each  time  by  a  feebler 
effort.  At  last,  she  sank  down  on  one  of  the  rocky 
steps  of  the  acclivity. 

"  We  are  lost,  dear  Matthew,"  said  she,  mournfully. 
"We  shall  never  find  our  way  to  the  earth  again. 
And  oh  how  happy  we  might  have  been  in  our  cot 
tage  !  " 

"Dear  heart! — wo  will  yet  be  happy  there,"  an 
swered  Matthew.  "  Look !  In  this  direction,  the  sun 
shine  penetrates  the  dismal  mist.  By  its  aid,  I  can 
direct  our  course  to  the  passage  of  the  Notch.  Let 
us  go  back,  love,  and  dream  no  more  of  the  Great 
Carbuncle !  " 

"  The  sun  cannot  be  yonder,"  said  Hannah,  with 
despondence.  "  By  this  time  it  must  be  noon.  If 
there  could  ever  be  any  sunshine  here,  it  would  come 
from  above  our  heads." 

"  But  look !  "  repeated  Matthew,  in  a  somewhat 
altered  tone.  "  It  is  brightening  every  moment.  If 
not  sunshine,  what  can  it  be  ?  " 

Nor  could  the  young  bride  any  longer  deny  that  a 
radiance  was  breaking  through  the  mist,  and  changing 
its  dim  hue  to  a  dusky  red,  which  continually  grew 
more  vivid,  as  if  brilliant  particles  were  interfused 
with  the  gloom.  Now,  also,  the  cloud  began  to  roll 
away  from  the  mountain,  while,  as  it  heavily  with 
drew,  one  object  after  another  started  out  of  its  im 
penetrable  obscurity  into  sight,  with  precisely  the  ef 
fect  of  a  new  creation,  before  the  indistinctness  of  the 
old  chaos  had  been  completely  swallowed  up.  As  the 
process  went  on,  they  saw  the  gleaming  of  water  close 


THE   GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  187 

at  their  feet,  and  found  themselves  on  the  very  border 
of  a  mountain  lake,  deep,  bright,  clear,  and  calmly 
beautiful,  spreading  from  brim  to  brim  of  a  basin  that 
had  been  scooped  out  of  the  solid  rock.  A  ray  of 
glory  flashed  across  its  surface.  The  pilgrims  looked 
whence  it  should  proceed,  but  closed  their  eyes  with 
a  thrill  of  awful  admiration,  to  exclude  tho  fervid 
splendor  that  glowed  from  the  brow  of  a  cliff  impend 
ing  over  the  enchanted  lake.  For  the  simple  pair  had 
reached  that  lake  of  mystery,  and  found  the  long- 
sought  shrine  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  ! 

They  threw  their  arms  around  each  other,  and 
trembled  at  their  own  success  ;  for,  as  the  legends  of 
this  wondrous  gem  rushed  thick  upon  their  memory, 
they  felt  themselves  marked  out  by  fate  —  and  the 
consciousness  was  fearful.  Often,  from  childhood  up 
ward,  they  had  seen  it  shining  like  a  distant  star.  And 
now  that  star  was  throwing  its  intensest  lustre  on  their 
hearts.  They  seemed  changed  to  one  another's  eyes, 
in  the  red  brilliancy  that  flamed  upon  their  cheeks, 
while  it  lent  the  same  fire  to  the  lake,  the  rocks,  and 
sky,  and  to  the  mists  which  had  rolled  back  before  its 
power.  But,  with  their  next  glance,  they  beheld  an 
object  that  drew  their  attention  even  from  the  mighty 
stone.  At  the  base  of  the  cliff,  directly  beneath  the 
Great  Carbuncle,  appeared  the  figure  of  a  man,  with 
his  arms  extended  in  the  act  of  climbing,  and  his  face 
turned  upward,  as  if  to  drink  the  full  gush  of  splendor. 
Bat  ho  stirred  not.  no  more  than  if  changed  to  marble, 

"  It  is  the  Seeker,"'  whispered  Hannah,  convulsively 
grasping  her  husband's  arm.  "  Matthew,  he  is  dead.'' 

"  The  joy  of  success  has  killed  him,"  replied  Mat 
thew,  trembling  violently.  "  Or,  perhaps,  the  very 
light  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  was  death !  " 


188  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  The  Great  Carbuncle,"  cried  a  peevish  voice  be 
hind  them.  "  The  Great  Humbug !  If  you  have 
found  it,  prithee  point  it  out  to  me." 

They  turned  their  heads,  and  there  was  the  Cynic, 
with  his  prodigious  spectacles  set  carefully  on  his 
nose,  staring  now  at  the  lake,  now  at  the  rocks,  now 
at  the  distant  masses  of  vapor,  now  right  at  the  Great 
Carbuncle  itself,  yet  seemingly  as  unconscious  of  its 
light  as  if  all  the  scattered  clouds  were  condensed 
about  his  person.  Though  its  radiance  actually  threw 
the  shadow  of  the  unbeliever  at  his  own  feet,  as  he 
turned  his  back  upon  the  glorious  jewel,  he  would  not 
be  convinced  that  there  was  the  least  glimmer  there. 

"Where  is  your  Great  Humbug?"  he  repeated. 
"  I  challenge  you  to  make  me  see  it !  " 

"  There,"  said  Matthew,  incensed  at  such  perverse 
blindness,  and  turning  the  Cynic  round  towards  the 
illuminated  cliff.  "  Take  off  those  abominable  spec 
tacles,  and  you  cannot  help  seeing  it !  " 

Now  these  colored  spectacles  probably  darkened 
the  Cynic's  sight,  in  at  least  as  great  a  degree  as  the 
smoked  glasses  through  which  people  gaze  at  an 
eclipse.  With  resolute  bravado,  however,  he  snatched 
them  from  his  nose,  and  fixed  a  bold  stare  full  upon 
the  ruddy  blaze  of  the  Great  Carbuncle.  But  scarcely 
had  he  encountered  it,  when,  with  a  deep,  shuddering 
groan,  he  dropped  his  head,  and  pressed  both  hands 
across  his  miserable  eyes.  Thenceforth  there  was,  in 
very  truth,  no  light  of  the  Great  Carbuncle,  nor  any 
other  light  on  earth,  nor  light  of  heaven  itself,  for  the 
poor  Cynic.  So  long  accustomed  to  view  all  objects 
through  a  medium  that  deprived  them  of  every  glimpse 
of  brightness,  a  single  flash  of  so  glorious  a  phenom 
enon,  striking  upon  his  naked  vision,  had  blinded  him 
forever. 


THE    GREAT  CARBUNCLE.  189 

"  Matthew,"  said  Hannah,  clinging  to  him,  "  let  us 
go  hence !  " 

Matthew  saw  that  she  was  faint,  and  kneeling  down, 
supported  her  in  his  arms,  while  he  threw  some  of  the 
thrillingly  cold  water  of  the  enchanted  lake  upon  her 
face  and  bosom.  It  revived  her,  but  could  not  reno 
vate  her  courage. 

"  Yes,  dearest ! "  cried  Matthew,  pressing  her  tremu 
lous  form  to  his  breast,  —  "we  will  go  hence,  and 
return  to  our  humble  cottage.  The  blessed  sunshine 
and  the  quiet  moonlight  shall  come  through  our  win 
dow.  We  will  kindle  the  cheerful  glow  of  our  hearth, 
at  eventide,  and  be  happy  in  its  light.  But  never 
again  will  we  desire  more  light  than  all  the  world  may 
share  with  us." 

"  No,"  said  his  bride,  "  for  how  could  we  live  by 
day,  or  sleep  by  night,  in  this  awf ul  blaze  of  the  Great 
Carbuncle !  " 

Out  of  the  hollow  of  their  hands,  they  drank  each  a 
draught  from  the  lake,  which  presented  them  its  waters 
uncontaminated  by  an  earthly  lip.  Then,  lending  their 
guidance  to  the  blinded  Cynic,  who  uttered  not  a  word, 
and  even  stifled  his  groans  in  his  own  most  wretched 
heart,  they  began  to  descend  the  mountain.  Yet,  as 
they  left  the  shore,  till  then  untrodden,  of  the  spirit's 
lake,  they  threw  a  farewell  glance  towards  the  cliff, 
and  beheld  the  vapors  gathering  in  dense  volumes, 
through  which  the  gem  burned  duskily. 

As  touching  the  other  pilgrims  of  the  Great  Car 
buncle,  the  legend  goes  on  to  tell,  that  the  worshipful 
Master  Ichabod  Pigsnort  soon  gave  up  the  quest  as  a 
desperate  speculation,  and  wisely  resolved  to  betake 
himself  again  to  his  warehouse,  near  the  town  dock,  in 
Boston.  But,  as  he  passed  through  the  Notch  of  the 


190  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

mountains,  a  war  party  of  Indians  captured  our  un 
lucky  merchant,  and  carried  him  to  Montreal,  there 
holding  him  in  bondage,  till,  by  the  payment  of  a 
heavy  ransom,  he  had  wofully  subtracted  from  his 
hoard  of  pine-tree  shillings.  By  his  long  absence, 
moreover,  his  affairs  had  become  so  disordered  that, 
for  the  rest  of  his  life,  instead  of  wallowing  in  silver, 
he  had  seldom  a  sixpence  worth  of  copper.  Doctor 
Cacaphodel,  the  alchemist,  returned  to  his  laboratory 
with  a  prodigious  fragment  of  granite,  which  he  ground 
to  powder,  dissolved  in  acids,  melted  in  the  crucible, 
and  burned  with  the  blow-pipe,  and  published  the  re 
sult  of  his  experiments  in  one  of  the  heaviest  folios  of 
the  day.  And,  for  all  these  purposes,  the  gem  itself 
could  not  have  answered  better  than  the  granite.  The 
poet,  by  a  somewhat  similar  mistake,  made  prize  of  a 
great  piece  of  ice,  which  he  found  in  a  sunless  chasm 
of  the  mountains,  and  swore  that  it  corresponded,  in 
all  points,  with  his  idea  of  the  Great  Carbuncle.  The 
critics  say,  that,  if  his  poetry  lacked  the  splendor  of 
the  gem,  it  retained  all  the  coldness  of  the  ice.  Tho 
Lord  de  Vere  went  back  to  his  ancestral  hall,  where 
he  contented  himself  with  a  wax-lighted  chandelier, 
and  filled,  in  due  course  of  time,  another  coffin  in  the 
ancestral  vault.  As  the  funeral  torches  gleamed  within 
that  dark  receptacle,  there  was  no  need  of  the  Great 
Carbuncle  to  show  the  vanity  of  earthly  pomp. 

The  Cynic,  having  cast  aside  his  spectacles,  wan 
dered  about  the  world,  a  miserable  object,  and  was 
punished  with  an  agonizing  desire  of  light,  for  the  wil 
ful  blindness  of  his  former  life.  The  whole  night  long, 
he  would  lift  his  splendor-blasted  orbs  to  the  moon 
and  stars ;  he  turned  his  face  eastward,  at  sunrise,  as 
duly  as  a  Persian  idolater ;  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to 


THE    GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  191 

Rome,  to  witness  the  magnificent  illumination  of  St. 
Peter's  Church;  and  finally  perished  in  the  great  fire 
of  London,  into  the  midst  of  which  he  had  thrust  him 
self,  with  the  desperate  idea  of  catching  one  feeble  ray 
from  the  blaze  that  was  kindling  earth  and  heaven. 

Matthew  and  his  bride  spent  many  peaceful  years, 
and  were  fond  of  telling  the  legend  of  the  Great  Car 
buncle.  The  tale,  however,  towards  the  close  of  their 
lengthened  lives,  did  not  meet  with  the  full  credence 
that  had  been  accorded  to  it  by  those  who  remembered 
the  ancient  lustre  of  the  gem.  For  it  is  affirmed  that, 
from  the  hour  when  two  mortals  had  shown  themselves 
so  simply  wise  as  to  reject  a  jewel  which  would  have 
dimmed  all  earthly  things,  its  splendor  waned.  When 
other  pilgrims  reached  the  cliff,  they  found  only  an 
opaque  stone,  with  particles  of  mica  glittering  on  its 
surface.  There  is  also  a  tradition  that,  as  the  youth- 
fid  pair  departed,  the  gem  was  loosened  from  the  fore 
head  of  the  cliff,  and  fell  into  the  enchanted  lake,  and 
that,  at  noontide,  the  Seeker's  form  may  still  be  seen 
to  bend  over  its  quenchless  gleam. 

Some  few  believe  that  this  inestimable  stone  is  blaz 
ing  as  of  old,  and  say  that  they  have  caught  its  radi 
ance,  like  a  flash  of  summer  lightning,  far  down  the 
the  valley  of  the  Saco.  And  be  it  owned  that,  many 
a  mile  from  the  Crystal  Hills,  I  saw  a  wondrous  light 
around  their  summits,  and  was  lured,  by  the  faith  of 
poesy,  to  be  the  latest  pilgrim  of  the  GREAT  CAK- 

BU^'CLE. 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.1 

"  BUT  this  painter !  "  cried  Walter  Ludlow,  witb 
animation.  u  He  not  only  excels  in  his  peculiar  art, 
but  possesses  vast  acquirements  in  all  other  learning 
and  science.  He  talks  Hebrew  with  Dr.  Mather,  and 
gives  lectures  in  anatomy  to  Dr.  Boylston.  In  a  word, 
he  will  meet  the  best  instructed  man  among  us  on  his 
own  ground.  Moreover,  he  is  a  polished  gentleman 
—  a  citizen  of  the  world  —  yes,  a  true  cosmopolite ; 
for  he  will  speak  like  a  native  of  each  clime  and  coun 
try  of  the  globe  except  our  own  forests,  whither  he  is 
now  going.  Nor  is  all  this  what  I  most  admire  in 
him." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Elinor,  who  had  listened  with  a 
woman's  interest  to  the  description  of  such  a  man. 
"  Yet  this  is  admirable  enough." 

"  Surely  it  is,"  replied  her  lover,  "  but  far  less  so 
than  his  natural  gift  of  adapting  himself  to  every 
variety  of  character,  insomuch  that  all  men  —  and  all 
women  too,  Elinor  —  shall  find  a  mirror  of  themselves 
in  this  wonderful  painter.  But  the  greatest  wonder  is 
yet  to  be  told." 

"Nay,  if  he  have  more  wonderful  attributes  thai\ 
these,"  said  Elinor,  laughing,  "  Boston  is  a  perilous 
abode  for  the  poor  gentleman.  Are  you  telling  me  oi 
a  painter  or  a  wizard  ?  " 

1  This  story  was  suggested  by  an  anecdote  of  Stuart,  related  in  Dun- 
lap's  Hisfori/  of  the  Arts  <>f  Design,  —  a  most  entertaining  hook  -to  the 
general  reader,  and  a  deeply  interesting  one,  we  should  think,  to  th« 
artist. 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  193 

"In  truth,"  answered  he,  "that  question  might  be 
asked  much  more  seriously  than  you  suppose.  They 
say  that  he  paints  not  merely  a  man's  features,  but  his 
mind  and  heart.  He  catches  the  secret  sentiments  and 
passions,  and  throws  them  upon  the  canvas,  like  sun 
shine  —  or  perhaps,  in  the  portraits  of  dark-souled  men, 
like  a  gleam  of  infernal  fire.  It  is  an  awful  gift," 
added  W alter,  lowering  his  voice  from  «its  tone  of  en 
thusiasm.  "  I  shall  be  almost  afraid  to  sit  to  him." 

"  Walter,  are  you  in  earnest?"  exclaimed  Elinor. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  dearest  Elinor,  do  not  let  him 
paint  the  look  which  you  now  wear,"  said  her  lover, 
smiling,  though  rather  perplexed.  "  There  :  it  is  pass 
ing  away  now,  but  when  you  spoke  you  seemed  fright 
ened  to  death,  and  very  sad  besides.  What  were  you 
thinking  of?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  answered  Elinor  hastily.  "  You 
paint  my  face  with  your  own  fantasies.  Well,  come 
for  me  to-morrow,  and  we  will  visit  this  wonderful 
artist." 

But  when  the  young  man  had  departed,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  a  remarkable  expression  was  again  visible 
on  the  fair  and  youthful  face  of  his  mistress.  It  was 
a  sad  and  anxious  look,  little  in  accordance  with  what 
should  have  been  the  feelings  of  a  maiden  on  the  eve 
of  wedlock.  Yet  Walter  Ludlow  was  the  chosen  of 
her  heart. 

"A  look!"  said  Elinor  to  herself.  "  No  wonder 
that  it  startled  him,  if  it  expressed  what  I  sometimes 
feel.  I  know,  by  my  own  experience,  how  frightful  a 
look  may  be.  But  it  was  all  fancy.  I  thought  noth 
ing  of  it  at  the  time  —  I  have  seen  nothing  of  it  since 
—  I  did  but  dream  it." 

And  she  busied  herself  about  the  embroidery  of  a 

VOL    I.  13 


194  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ruff,  in  which  she  meant  that  her  portrait  should  be 
taken. 

The  painter,  of  whom  they  had  been  speaking,  was 
not  one  of  those  native  artists  who,  at  a  later  period 
than  this,  borrowed  their  colors  from  the  Indians,  and 
manufactured  their  pencils  of  the  furs  of  wild  beasts 
Perhaps,  if  he  could  have  revoked  his  life  and  prear 
ranged  his  destiny,  he  might  have  chosen  to  belong  to 
that  school  without  a  master,  in  the  hope  of  being  at 
least  original,  since  there  were  no  works  of  art  to  imi 
tate  nor  rules  to  follow.  But  he  had  been  born  and 
educated  in  Europe.  People  said  that  he  had  studied 
the  grandeur  or  beauty  of  conception,  and  every  touch 
of  the  master  hand,  in  all  the  most  famous  pictures,  in 
cabinets  and  galleries,  and  on  the  walls  of  churches, 
till  there  was  nothing  more  for  his  powerful  mind  to 
learn.  Art  could  add  nothing  to  its  lessons,  but  Nat 
ure  might.  He  had  therefore  visited  a  world  whither 
none  of  his  professional  brethren  had  preceded  him, 
to  feast  his  eyes  on  visible  images  that  were  noble 
and  picturesque,  yet  had  never  been  transferred  to 
canvas.  America  was  too  poor  to  afford  other  temp 
tations  to  an  artist  of  eminence,  though  many  of  the 
colonial  gentry,  on  the  painter's  arrival,  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  transmit  their  lineaments  to  posterity  by 
means  of  his  skill.  Whenever  such  proposals  were 
made,  he  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  the  applicant,  and 
seemed  to  look  him  through  and  through.  If  ho  be 
held  only  a  sleek  and  comfortable  visage,  though  there 
were  a  gold-laced  coat  to  adorn  the  picture  and  golden 
guineas  to  pay  for  it,  he  civilly  rejected  the  task  and 
the  reward.  But  if  the  face  were  the  index  of  any 
thing  uncommon,  in  thought,  sentiment,  or  experience ; 
or  if  he  met  a  beggar  in  the  street,  with  a  white  beard 


THE   PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  195 

and  a  furrowed  brow ;  or  if  sometimes  a  child  hap 
pened  to  look  tip  and  smile,  he  would  exhaust  all  the 
art  on  them  that  he  denied  to  wealth. 

Pictorial  skill  being  so  rare  in  the  colonies,  the 
painter  became  an  object  of  general  curiosity.  If  few 
or  none  coidd  appreciate  the  technical  merit  of  his 
productions,  yet  there  were  points,  in  regard  to  which 
the  opinion  of  the  crowd  was  as  valuable  as  the  refined 
judgment  of  the  amateur.  He  watched  the  effect  that 
each  picture  produced  on  such  untutored  beholders,  and 
derived  profit  from  their  remarks,  while  they  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  instructing  Nature  herself  as 
him  who  seemed  to  rival  her.  Their  admiration,  it 
must  be  owned,  was  tinctured  with  the  prejudices  of 
the  age  and  country.  Some  deemed  it  an  offence 
against  the  Mosaic  law,  and  even  a  presumptuous 
mockery  of  the  Creator,  to  bring  into  existence  such 
lively  images  of  his  creatures.  Others,  frightened  at 
the  art  which  could  raise  phantoms  at  will,  and  keep 
the  form  of  the  dead  among  the  living,  were  inclined 
to  consider  the  painter  as  a  magician,  or  perhaps  the 
famous  Black  Man,  of  old  witch  times,  plotting  mis 
chief  in  a  new  guise.  These  foolish  fancies  were  more 
than  half  believed  among  the  mob.  Even  in  superior 
circles  his  character  was  invested  with  a  vague  awe, 
partly  rising  like  smoke  wreaths  from  the  popular 
superstitions,  but  chiefly  caused  by  the  varied  knowl 
edge  and  talents  which  he  made  subservient  to  his 
profession. 

Being  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  Walter  Ludlow  and 
Elinor  were  eager  to  obtain  their  portraits,  as  the  first 
of  what,  they  doubtless  hoped,  would  be  a  long  series 
of  family  pictures.  The  day  after  the  conversation 
above  recorded  they  visited  the  painter's  rooms.  A 


196  TWICfE-TOLD   TALES. 

servant  ushered  them  into  an  apartment,  where,  though 
the  artist  himself  was  not  visible,  there  were  person 
ages  whom  they  could  hardly  forbear  greeting  with 
reverence.  They  knew,  indeed,  that  the  whole  assem 
bly  were  but  pictures,  yet  felt  it  impossible  to  separate 
the  idea  of  life  and  intellect  from  such  striking  coun 
terfeits.  Several  of  the  portraits  were  known  to  them, 
either  as  distinguished  characters  of  the  day  or  their 
private  acquaintances.  There  was  Governor  Burnett, 
looking  as  if  ho  had  just  received  an  undutiful  com 
munication  from  the  House  of  Representatives,  and 
were  inditing  a  most  sharp  response.  Mr.  Cooke  hung 
beside  the  ruler  whom  he  opposed,  sturdy,  and  some 
what  puritanical,  as  befitted  a  popular  leader.  The 
ancient  lady  of  Sir  William  Phipps  eyed  them  from 
the  wall,  in  ruff  and  farthingale,  —  an  imperious  old 
dame,  not  unsuspected  of  witchcraft.  John  Win  slow, 
then  a  very  young  man,  wore  the  expression  of  war 
like  enterprise,  which  long  afterwards  made  him  a  dis 
tinguished  general.  Their  personal  friends  were  rec 
ognized  at  a  glance.  In  most  of  the  pictures,  the 
whole  mind  and  character  were  brought  out  on  the 
countenance,  and  concentrated  into  a  single  look,  so 
that,  to  speak  paradoxically,  the  originals  hardly  re 
sembled  themselves  so  strikingly  as  the  portraits  did. 
Among"  these  modern  worthies  there  were  two  old 

o 

bearded  Saints,  who  had  almost  vanished  into  the  dark 
ening  canvas.  There  was  also  a  pale,  but  unfaded 
Madonna,  who  had  perhaps  been  worshipped  in  Rome, 
and  now  regarded  the  lovers  with  such  a  mild  and 
holy  look  that  they  longed  to  worship  too. 

"  How  singular  a  thought,"  observed  Walter  Lud- 
low,  "that  this  beautiful  face  has  been  beautiful  for 
above  two  hundred  years !  Oh,  if  all  beauty  would  en- 
dure  so  well !  Do  you  not  envy  her,  Elinor  ?  " 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  197 

44  If  earth  were  heaven,  I  might,"  she  replied. 
"  But  where  all  tilings  fade,  how  miserable  to  be  the 
one  that  cpnld  not  fade !  " 

"This  dark  old  St.  Peter  has  a  fierce  and  ugly 
scowl,  saint  though  he  be,"  continued  Walter.  "  He 
troubles  me.  But  the  Virgin  looks  kindly  at  us." 

"  Yes  ;  but  very  sorrowfully,  inethinks,"  said  Elinor. 

The  easel  stood  beneath  these  three  old  pictures, 
sustaining  one  that  had  been  recently  commenced. 
After  a  little  inspection,  they  began  to  recognize  the 
features  of  their  own  minister,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Colman, 
growing  into  shape  and  life,  as  it  were,  out  of  a  cloud. 

44  Kind  old  man  ! "  exclaimed  Elinor.  44  He  gazes 
at  me  as  if  he  were  about  to  utter  a  word  of  paternal 
advice." 

44  And  at  me,"  said  Walter,  u  as  if  he  were  about  to 
shake  his  head  and  rebuke  me  for  some  suspected  in 
iquity.  But  so  does  the  original.  I  shall  never  feel 
quite  comfortable  under  his  eye  till  we  stand  before 
him  to  be  married." 

They  now  heard  a  footstep  on  the  floor,  and  turning, 
beheld  the  painter,  who  had  been  some  moments  in 
the  room,  and  had  listened  to  a  few  of  their  remarks. 
He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  countenance  well 
worthy  of  his  own  pencil.  Indeed,  by  the  picturesque, 
though  careless  arrangement  of  his  rich  dress,  and, 
perhaps,  because  his  soul  dwelt  always  among  painted 
shapes,  he  looked  somewhat  like  a  portrait  himself. 
His  visitors  were  sensible  of  a  kindred  between  the 
artist  and  his  works,  and  felt  as  if  one  of  the  pictures 
had  stepped  from  the  canvas  to  salute  them. 

Walter  Ludlow,  who  was  slightly  known  to  the 
painter,  explained  the  object  of  their  visit.  While  he 
spoke,  a  sunbeam  was  falling  athwart  his  figure  and 


198  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Elinor's,  with  so  happy  an  effect  that  they  also  seemed 
living  pictures  of  youth  and  beauty,  gladdened  by 
bright  fortune.  The  artist  was  evidently  struck. 

"  My  easel  is  occupied  for  several  ensuing  days,  and 
my  stay  in  Boston  must  be  brief,"  said  he,  thought 
fully;  then,  after  an  observant  glance,  he  added: 
"but  your  wishes  shall  be  gratified,  though  I  disap 
point  the  Chief  Justice  and  Madam  Oliver.  I  must 
not  lose  this  opportunity,  for  the  sake  of  painting  a 
few  ells  of  broadcloth  and  brocade." 

The  painter  expressed  a  desire  to  introduce  both 
their  portraits  into  one  picture,  and  represent  them 
engaged  in  some  appropriate  action.  This  plan  would 
have  delighted  the  lovers,  but  was  necessarily  rejected, 
because  so  large  a  space  of  canvas  would  have  been 
unfit  for  the  room  which  it  was  intended  to  decorate. 
Two  half-length  portraits  were  therefore  fixed  upon. 
After  they  had  taken  leave,  Walter  Ludlow  asked 
Elinor,  with  a  smile,  whether  she  knew  what  an  influ 
ence  over  their  fates  the  painter  was  about  to  acquire. 

"  The  old  women  of  Boston  affirm,"  continued  he, 
"that  after  he  has  once  got  possession  of  a  person's 
face  and  figure,  he  may  paint  him  in  any  act  or  situa 
tion  whatever  —  and  the  picture  will  be  prophetic.  Do 
you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Elinor,  smiling.  "  Yet  if  he  has 
such  magic,  there  is  something  so  gentle  in  his  man 
ner  that  I  am  sure  he  will  use  it  well." 

It  was  the  painter's  choice  to  proceed  with  both  the 
portraits  at  the  same  time,  assigning  as  a  reason,  in 
the  mystical  language  which  he  sometimes  used,  that 
the  faces  threw  light  upon  each  other.  Accordingly 
he  gave  now  a  touch  to  Walter,  and  now  to  Elinor, 
and  the  features  of  one  and  the  other  began  to  start 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  199 

forth  so  vividly  that  it  appeared  as  if  his  triumphant 
art  would  actually  disengage  them  from  the  canvas. 
Amid  the  rich  light  and  deep  shade,  they  beheld  their 
phantom  selves.  But,  though  the  likeness  promised 
to  be  perfect,  they  were  not  quite  satisfied  with  the 
expression  ;  it  seemed  more  vague  than  in  most  of  the 
painter's  works.  He,  however,  was  satisfied  with  the 
prospect  of  success,  and  being  much  interested  in  the 
lovers,  employed  his  leisure  moments,  unknown  to 
them,  in  making  a  crayon  sketch  of  their  two  figures. 
During  their  sittings,  he  engaged  them  in  conversation, 
and  kindled  up  their  faces  with  characteristic  traits, 
which,  though  continually  varying,  it  was  his  purpose 
to  combine  and  fix.  At  length  he  announced  that  at 
their  next  visit  both  the  portraits  woidd  be  ready  for 
delivery. 

"  If  my  pencil  will  but  be  true  to  my  conception,  in 
the  few  last  touches  which  I  meditate,"  observed  he, 
"  these  two  pictures  will  be  my  very  best  performances. 
Seldom,  indeed,  has  an  artist  such  subjects/' 

While  speaking,  he  still  bent  his  penetrative  eye 
upon  them,  nor  withdrew  it  till  they  had  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs. 

Nothing,  in  the  whole  circle  of  human  vanities,  takes 
stronger  hold  of  the  imagination  than  this  affair  of 
having  a  portrait  painted.  Yet  why  should  it  be  so  ? 
The  looking-glass,  the  polished  globes  of  the  andirons, 
the  mirror-like  water,  and  all  other  reflecting  surfaces, 
continually  present  us  with  portraits,  or  rather  ghosts, 
of  ourselves,  which  we  glance  at,  and  straightway  for 
get  them.  But  we  forget  them  only  because  they 
vanish.  It  is  the  idea  of  duration  —  of  earthly  im 
mortality —  that  gives  such  a  mysterious  interest  to 
our  own  portraits.  Walter  and  Elinor  were  not  in- 


200  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

sensible  to  this  feeling,  and  hastened  to  the  painter's 
room,  punctually  at  the  appointed  hour,  to  meet  those 
pictured  shapes  which  were  to  be  their  representatives 
with  posterity.  The  sunshine  flashed  after  them  into 
the  apartment,  but  left  it  somewhat  gloomy  as  they 
closed  the  door. 

Their  eyes  were  immediately  attracted  to  their  por 
traits,  which  rested  against  the  farthest  wall  of  the 
room.  At  the  first  glance,  through  the  dim  light  and 
the  distance,  seeing  themselves  in  precisely  their  nat 
ural  attitudes,  and  with  all  the  air  that  they  recognized 
so  well,  they  uttered  a  simultaneous  exclamation  of 
delight. 

"There  we  stand,"  cried  Walter,  enthusiastically, 
"fixed  in  sunshine  forever!  No  dark  passions  can 
gather  on  our  faces  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Elinor,  more  calmly ;  "  no  dreary 
change  can  sadden  us." 

This  was  said  while  they  were  approaching,  and 
had  yet  gained  only  an  imperfect  view  of  the  pictures. 
The  painter,  after  saluting  them,  busied  himself  at  a 
table  in  completing  a  crayon  sketch,  leaving  his  visit 
ors  to  form  their  own  judgment  as  to  his  perfected 
labors.  At  intervals,  he  sent  a  glance  from  beneath 
his  deep  eyebrows,  watching  their  countenances  in 
profile,  with  his  pencil  suspended  over  the  sketch. 
They  had  now  stood  some  moments,  each  in  front  of 
the  other's  picture,  contemplating  it  with  entranced 
attention,  but  without  uttering  a  word.  At  length, 
Walter  stepped  forward  —  then  back  —  viewing  Eli 
nor's  portrait  in  various  lights,  and  finally  spoke. 

"  Is  there  not  a  change  ?  "  said  he,  in  a  doubtful 
and  meditative  tone.  "  Yes ;  the  perception  of  it 
grows  more  vivid  the  longer  I  look.  It  ie  certainly 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  201 

the  same  picture  that  I  saw  yesterday ;  the  dress  — 
the  features  —  all  are  the  same  ;  and  yet  something  is 
altered." 

"Is  then  the  picture  less  like  than  it  was  yester 
day?''  inquired  the  painter,  now  drawing  near,  with 
irrepressible  interest. 

4*  The  features  are  perfect,  Elinor/'  answered  Wal 
ter,  "  and,  at  the  first  glance,  the  expression  seemed 
also  hers.  But,  I  could  fancy  that  the  portrait  has 
changed  countenance,  while  I  have  been  looking  at  it. 
The  eyes  are  fixed  on  mine  with  a  strangely  sad  and 
anxious  expression.  Nay,  it  is  grief  and  terror !  Is 
this  like  Elinor  ?  " 

"  Compare  the  living  face  with  the  pictured  one," 
said  the  painter. 

Walter  glanced  sidelong  at  his  mistress,  and  started. 
Motionless  and  absorbed  —  fascinated,  as  it  were  —  in 
contemplation  of  Walter's  portrait,  Elinor's  face  had 
assumed  precisely  the  expression  of  which  he  had  just 
been  complaining.  Had  she  practised  for  whole  hours 
before  a  mirror,  she  could  not  have  caught  the  look  so 
successfully.  Had  the  picture  itself  been  a  mirror,  it 
could  not  have  thrown  back  her  present  aspect  with 
stronger  and  more  melancholy  truth.  She  appeared 
quite  unconscious  of  the  dialogue  between  the  artist 
and  her  lover. 

"  Elinor,"  exclaimed  Walter,  in  amazement,  "  what 
change  has  come  over  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  hear  him,  nor  desist  from  her  fixed 
gaze,  till  he  seized  her  hand,  and  thus  attracted  her 
notice  ;  then,  with  a  sudden  tremor,  she  looked  from 
the  picture  to  the  face  of  the  original. 

"  Do  you  see  no  change  in  your  portrait  ?  "  asked 
she. 


202  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"In  mine? — None  !  "  replied  Walter,  examining  it. 
"  But  let  me  see !  Yes  ;  there  is  a  slight  change  —  an 
improvement,  I  think,  in  the  picture,  though  none  in 
the  likeness.  It  has  a  livelier  expression  than  yester 
day,  as  if  some  bright  thought  were  flashing  from  the 
eyes,  and  about  to  be  uttered  from  the  lips.  Now 
that  I  have  caught  the  look,  it  becomes  very  decided." 

While  he  was  intent  on  these  observations,  Elinor 
turned  to  the  painter.  She  regarded  him  with  grief 
and  awe,  and  felt  that  he  repaid  her  with  sympathy 
and  commiseration,  though  wherefore,  she  could  but 
vaguely  guess. 

"  That  look !  "  whispered  she,  and  shuddered. 
"  How  came  it  there  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  the  painter,  sadly,  taking  her  hand, 
and  leading  her  apart,  "  in  both  these  pictures,  I  have 
painted  what  I  saw.  The  artist  —  the  true  artist  — 
must  look  beneath  the  exterior.  It  is  his  gift  —  his 
proudest,  but  often  a  melancholy  one  —  to  see  the  in 
most  soul,  and,  by  a  power  indefinable  even  to  him 
self,  to  make  it  glow  or  darken  upon  the  canvas,  in 
glances  that  express  the  thought  and  sentiment  of 
years.  Would  that  I  might  convince  myself  of  error 
in  the  present  instance  !  " 

They  had  now  approached  the  table,  on  which  were 
heads  in  chalk,  hands  almost  as  expressive  as  ordinary 
faces,  ivied  church  towers,  thatched  cottages,  old  thun 
der-stricken  trees,  Oriental  and  antique  costume,  and 
all  such  picturesque  vagaries  of  an  artist's  idle  mo 
ments.  Turning  them  over,  with  seeming  careless 
ness,  a  crayon  sketch  of  two  figures  was  disclosed. 

"  If  I  have  failed,"  continued  he  —  "  if  your  heart 
does  not  see  itself  reflected  in  your  own  portrait  —r  if 
you  have  110  secret  cause  to  trust  my  delineation  of  the 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  203 

other  —  it  is  not  yet  too  late  to  alter  them.  I  might 
change  the  action  of  these  figures  too.  But  would  it 
influence  the  event  ?  " 

He  directed  her  notice  to  the  sketch.  A  thrill  ran 
through  Elinor's  frame  ;  a  shriek  was  upon  her  lips  ; 
but  she  stifled  it,  with  the  self-command  that  becomes 
habitual  to  all  who  hide  thoughts  of  fear  and  anguish 
within  their  bosoms.  Turning  from  the  table,  she 
perceived  that  Walter  had  advanced  near  enough  to 
nave  seen  the  sketch,  though  she  cotdd  not  determine 
whether  it  had  caught  his  eye. 

"  We  will  not  have  the  pictures  altered,"  said  she, 
hastily.  "  If  mine  is  sad,  I  shall  but  look  the  gayer 
for  the  contrast." 

"  Be  it  so,"  answered  the  painter,  bowing.  "  May 
your  griefs  be  such  fanciful  ones  that  only  your  pict 
ure  may  mourn  for  them  !  For  your  joys  —  may  they 
be  true  and  deep,  and  paint  themselves  upon  this  lovely 
face  till  it  quite  belie  my  art !  " 

After  the  marriage  of  Walter  and  Elinor,  the  pict 
ures  formed  the  two  most  splendid  ornaments  of  their 
abode.  They  hung  side  by  side,  separated  by  a  nar 
row  panel,  appearing  to  eye  each  other  constantly,  yet 
always  returning  the  gaze  of  the  spectator.  Trav 
elled  gentlemen,  who  professed  a  knowledge  of  such 
subjects,  reckoned  these  among  the  most  admirable 
specimens  of  modern  portraiture ;  while  common  ob 
servers  compared  them  with  the  originals,  feature  by 
feature,  and  were  rapturous  in  praise  of  the  likeness. 
But  it  was  on  a  third  class  —  neither  travelled  con 
noisseurs  nor  common  observers,  but  people  of  natural 
sensibility  —  that  the  pictures  wrought  their  strongest 
effect.  Such  persons  might  gaze  carelessly  at  first, 
but,  becoming  interested,  would  return  day  after  day, 


204  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  study  these  painted  faces  like  the  pages  of  a  mys 
tic  volume.  Walter  Ludlow's  portrait  attracted  their 
earliest  notice.  In  the  absence  of  himself  and  his 
bride,  they  sometimes  disputed  as  to  the  expression 
which  the  painter  had  intended  to  throw  upon  the 
features  ;  all  agreeing  that  there  was  a  look  of  earnest 
import,  though  no  two  explained  it  alike.  There  was 
less  diversity  of  opinion  in  regard  to  Elinor's  picture. 
They  differed,  indeed,  in  their  attempts  to  estimate 
the  nature  and  depth  of  the  gloom  that  dwelt  upon 
her  face,  but  agreed  that  it  was  gloom,  and  alien  from 
the  natural  temperament  of  their  youthful  friend.  A 
certain  fanciful  person  announced,  as  the  result  of 
much  scrutiny,  that  both  these  pictures  were  parts  of 
one  design,  and  that  the  melancholy  strength  of  feel 
ing,  in  Elinor's  countenance,  bore  reference  to  the 
more  vivid  emotion,  or,  as  he  termed  it,  the  wild  pas 
sion,  in  that  of  Walter.  Though  unskilled  in  the  art, 
he  even  began  a  sketch,  in  which  the  action  of  the  two 
figures  was  to  correspond  with  their  mutual  expres 
sion. 

It  was  whispered  among  friends  that,  day  by  day, 
Elinor's  face  was  assuming  a  deeper  shade  of  pensive- 
ness,  which  threatened  soon  to  render  her  too  true  a 
counterpart  of  her  melancholy  picture.  Walter,  on  the 
other  hand,  instead  of  acquiring  the  vivid  look  which 
the  painter  had  given  him  on  the  canvas,  became 
reserved  and  downcast,  with  no  outward  flashes  of 
emotion,  however  it  might  be  smouldering  within.  In 
course  of  time,  Elinor  hung  a  gorgeous  curtain  of  pur 
ple  silk,  wrought  with  flowers  and  fringed  with  heavy 
golden  tassels,  before  the  pictures,  under  pretence  that 
the  dust  would  tarnish  their  hues,  or  the  light  diYn 
them.  It  was  enough.  Her  visitors  felt,  that  the 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  205 

massive  folds  of  the  silk  must  never  be  withdrawn,  nor 
the  portraits  mentioned  in  her  presence. 

Time  wore  on ;  and  the  painter  came  again.  He 
had  been  far  enough  to  the  north  to  see  the  silver  cas 
cade  of  the  Crystal  Hills,  and  to  look  over  the  vast 
round  of  cloud  and  forest  from  the  summit  of  New 
England's  loftiest  mountain.  But  he  did  not  profane 
that  scene  by  the  mockery  of  his  art.  He  had  also 
lain  in  a  canoe  on  the  bosom  of  Lake  George,  making 
his  soid  the  mirror  of  its  loveliness  and  grandeur,  till 
not  a  picture  in  the  Vatican  was  more  vivid  than  his 
recollection.  He  had  gone  with  the  Indian  hunters  to 
Niagara,  and  there,  again,  had  flung  his  hopeless  pencil 
down  the  precipice,  feeling  that  he  could  as  soon  paint 
the  roar,  as  aught  else  that,  goes  to  make  up  the  won 
drous  cataract.  In  truth,  it  was  seldom  his  impulse  to 
copy  natural  scenery,  except  as  a  framework  for  the 
delineations  of  the  human  form  and  face,  instinct  with 
thought,  passion,  or  suffering.  With  store  of  such  his 
adventurous  ramble  had  enriched  him :  the  stern  dig 
nity  of  Indian  chiefs ;  the  dusky  loveliness  of  In 
dian  girls ;  the  domestic  life  of  wigwams  ,•  the  stealthy 
march ;  the  battle  beneath  gloomy  pine-trees ;  the 
frontier  fortress  with  its  garrison  ;  the  anomaly  of  the 
old  French  partisan,  bred  in  courts,  but  grown  gray  in 
shaggy  deserts ;  such  were  the  scenes  and  portraits 
that  he  had  sketched.  The  glow  of  perilous  moments  ; 
flashes  of  wild  feeling;  struggles  of  fierce  power, — 
love,  hate,  grief,  frenzy ;  in  a  word,  all  the  worn-out 
heart  of  the  old  earth  had  been  revealed  to  him  under 
a  new  form.  His  portfolio  was  filled  with  graphic 
illustrations  of  the  volume  of  his  memory,  which  genius 
would  transmute  into  its  own  substance,  and  imbue 
with  immortality.  He  felt  that  the  deep  wisdom  in 
his  art,  which  he  had  sought  so  far,  was  found. 


206  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

But  amid  stern  or  lovely  nature,  in  the  perils  of  the 
forest  or  its  overwhelming*  peacefulness,  still  there  had 
been  two  phantoms,  the  companions  of  his  way.  Like 
all  other  men  around  whom  an  engrossing  purpose 
wreathes  itself,  he  was  insulated  from  the  mass  of 
human  kind.  He  had  no  aim  —  no  pleasure  —  no 
sympathies  —  but  what  were  ultimately  connected  with 
his  art.  Though  gentle  in  manner  and  upright  in  in 
tent  and  action,  he  did  not  possess  kindly  feelings  ;  his 
heart  was  cold ;  no  living  creature  could  be  brought 
near  enough  to  keep  him  warm.  For  these  two  beings, 
however,  he  had  felt,  in  its  greatest  intensity,  the  sort 
of  interest  which  always  allied  him  to  the  subjects  of 
his  pencil.  He  had  pried  into  their  souls  with  his 
keenest  insight,  and  pictured  the  result  upon  their 
features  with  his  utmost  skill,  so  as  barely  to  fall 
short  of  that  standard  which  no  genius  ever  reached, 
his  own  severe  conception.  He  had  caught  from  tlie 
duskiness  of  the  future  —  at  least,  so  he  fancied  —  a 
fearful  secret,  and  had  obscurely  revealed  it  on  the 
portraits.  So  much  of  himself  —  of  his  imagination 
and  all  other  powers — had  been  lavished  on  the  study 
of  Walter  and  Elinor,  that  he  almost  regarded  them 
as  creations  of  his  own,  like  the  thousands  with  which 
he  had  peopled  the  realms  of  Picture.  Therefore  did 
they  flit  through  the  twilight  of  the  woods,  hover  on 
the  mist  of  waterfalls,  look  forth  from  the  mirror  of 
the  lake,  nor  melt  away  in  the  noontide  sun.  They 
haunted  his  pictorial  fancy,  not  as  mockeries  of  life, 
nor  pale  goblins  of  the  dead,  but  in  the  guise  of  por 
traits,  each  with  the  unalterable  expression  which  his 
magic  had  evoked  from  the  caverns  of  the  soul.  He 
could  not  recross  the  Atlantic  till  he  had  again  beheld 
the  originals  of  those  airy  pictures. 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  207 

"  O  glorious  Art !  "  thus  mused  the  enthusiastic 
painter  as  he  trod  the  street,  "thou  art  the  image 
of  the  Creator's  own.  The  innumerable  forms,  that 
wander  in  nothing-ness,  start  into  being  at  thy  beck. 
The  dead  live  again.  Thou  recallest  them  to  their  old 
scenes,  and  givest  their  gray  shadows  the  lustre  of  a  bet 
ter  life,  at  once  earthly  and  immortal.  Thou  snatchest 
back  the  fleeting  moments  of  History.  With  thee 
there  is  no  Past,  for,  at  thy  touch,  all  that  is  great 
becomes  forever  present ;  and  illustrious  men  live 
through  long  ages,  in  the  visible  performance  of  the 
very  deeds  which  made  them  what  they  are.  O  potent 
Art!  as  thou  bringest  the  faintly  revealed  Past  to 
stand  in  that  narrow  strip  of  sunlight,  which  we  call 
Now,  canst  thou  summon  the  shrouded  Future  to  meet 
her  there?  Have  I  not  achieved  it?  Am  I  not  thy 
Prophet?" 

Thus,  with  a  proud,  yet  melancholy  fervor,  did  he 
almost  cry  aloud,  as  he  passed  through  the  toilsome 
street,  among  people  that  knew  not  of  his  reveries,  nor 
could  understand  nor  care  for  them.  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  cherish  a  solitary  ambition.  Unless  there  be 
those  around  him  by  whose  example  he  may  regulate 
himself,  his  thoughts,  desires,  and  hopes  will  become 
extravagant,  and  he  the  semblance,  perhaps  the  real 
ity,  of  a  madman.  Reading  other  bosoms  with  an 
acuteness  almost  preternatural,  the  painter  failed  to 
see  the  disorder  of  his  own. 

"And  this  should  be  the  house,"  said  he,  looking  up 
and  down  the  front,  before  he  knocked.  "  Heaven 
help  my  brains !  That  picture  !  Methinks  it  will 
never  vanish.  Whether  I  look  at  the  windows  or  the 
door,  there  it  is  framed  within  them,  painted  strongly, 
and  glowing  in  the  richest  tints  —  the  faces  of  the 
portraits  —  the  figures  and  action  of  the  sketch !  " 


208  TWICE-TOLD    TALES, 

He  knocked. 

"  The  Portraits !  Are  they  within  ?  "  inquired  he 
of  the  domestic  ;  then  recollecting  himself  —  "  your 
master  and  mistress !  Are  they  at  home  ?  " 

"  They  are,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  adding,  as  he  no 
ticed  that  picturesque  aspect  of  which  the  painter 
could  never  divest  himself,  "  and  the  Portraits  too !  " 

The  guest  was  admitted  into  a  parlor,  communi 
cating  by  a  central  door  with  an  interior  room  of  the 
same  size.  As  the  first  apartment  was  empty,  he 
passed  to  the  entrance  of  the  second,  within  which 
his  eyes  were  greeted  by  those  living  personages,  as 
well  as  their  pictured  representatives,  who  had  long 
been  the  objects  of  so  singular  an  interest.  He  invol 
untarily  paused  on  the  threshold. 

They  had  not  perceived  his  approach.  Walter  and 
Elinor  were  standing  before  the  portraits,  whence  the 
former  had  just  flung  back  the  rich  and  voluminous 
folds  of  the  silken  curtain,  holding  its  golden  tassel 
with  one  hand,  while  the  other  grasped  that  of  his 
bride.  The  pictures,  concealed  for  months,  gleamed 
forth  again  in  undiminished  splendor,  appearing  to 
throw  a  sombre  light  across  the  room,  rather  than  to 
be  disclosed  by  a  borrowed  radiance.  That  of  Elinor 
had  been  almost  prophetic.  A  pensiveness,  and  next 
a  gentle  sorrow,  had  successively  dwelt  upon  her  coun 
tenance,  deepening,  with  the  lapse  of  time,  into  a  quiet 
anguish.  A  mixture  of  affright  would  now  have  made 
it  the  very  expression  of  the  portrait.  Walter's  face 
was  moody  and  dull,  or  animated  only  by  fitful  flashes, 
which  left  a  heavier  darkness  for  their  momentary 
illumination.  He  looked  from  Elinor  to  her  portrait, 
and  thence  to  his  own,  in  the  contemplation  of  which 
he  finally  stood  absorbed. 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.  209 

The  painter  seemed  to  hear  the  step  of  Destiny 
approaching  behind  him,  on  its  progress  towards  its 
victims.  A  strange  thought  darted  into  his  mind. 
Was  not  his  own  the  form  in  which  that  destiny  had 
embodied  itself,  and  he  a  chief  agent  of  the  coming 
evil  which  he  had  foreshadowed? 

Still,  Walter  remained  silent  before  the  picture^ 
communing  with  it  as  with  his  own  heart,  and  aban 
doning  himself  to  the  spell  of  evil  influence  that  the 
painter  had  cast  upon  the  features.  Gradually  his 
eyes  kindled  ;  while  as  Elinor  watched  the  increasing 
wildness  of  his  face,  her  own  assumed  a  look  of  ter 
ror  ;  and  when  at  last  he  turned  upon  her,  the  resem 
blance  of  both  to  their  portraits  was  complete. 

"  Our  fate  is  upon  us  !  "  howled  Walter.     "  Die  !  " 

Drawing  a  knife,  he  sustained  her,  as  she  was  sink 
ing  to  the  ground,  and  aimed  it  at  her  bosom.  In  the 
action,  and  in  the  look  and  attitude  of  each,  the  painter 
beheld  the  figures  of  his  sketch.  The  picture,  with  all 
its  tremendous  coloring,  was  finished. 

"  Hold,  madman  ! "  cried  he,  sternly. 

He  had  advanced  from  the  door,  and  interposed 
himself  between  the  wretched  beings,  with  the  same 
sense  of  power  to  regulate  their  destiny  as  to  alter  a 
scene  upon  the  canvas.  He  stood  like  a  magician, 
controlling  the  phantoms  which  he  had  evoked. 

"  What !  "  muttered  Walter  Ludlow,  as  he  relapsed 
from  fierce  excitement  into  silent  gloom.  "  Does  Fate 
impede  its  own  decree  ?  " 

"  Wretched  lady  !  "  said  the  painter,  "  did  I  not 
warn  you  ?  " 

"  You  did,"  replied  Elinor,  calmly,  as  her  terror 
gave  place  to  the  quiet  grief  which  it  had  disturbed. 
"But  — I  loved  him!" 

VOL.    I.  14 


210  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Is  there  not  a  deep  moral  in  the  tale  ?  Could  the 
result  of  one,  or  all  our  deeds,  be  shadowed  forth  and 
set  before  us,  some  would  call  it  Fate,  and  hurry  on 
ward,  others  be  swept  along  by  their  passionate  de 
sires,  and  none  be  turned  aside  by  the  PROPHETIC 
PICTURES. 


DAVID  SWAN. 

A   FANTASY. 

can  be  but  partially  acquainted  even  with  the 
events  which  actually  influence  our  course  through 
life,  and  our  final  destiny.  There  are  innumerable 
other  events  —  if  such  they  may  be  called  —  which 
come  close  upon  us,  yet  pass  away  without  actual 
results,  or  even  betraying  their  near  approach,  by  the 
reflection  of  any  light  or  shadow  across  our  minds. 
Could  we  know  all  the  vicissitudes  of  our  fortunes, 
life  would  be  too  full  of  hope  and  fear,  exultation  or 
disappointment,  to  afford  us  a  single  hour  of  true 
serenity.  This  idea  may  be  illustrated  by  a  page 
from  the  secret  history  of  David  Swan. 

AVe  have  nothing  to  do  with  David  until  we  find 
him,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  on  the  high  road  from  his 
native  place  to  the  city  of  Boston,  where  his  uncle,  a 
small  dealer  in  the  grocery  line,  was  to  take  him  be 
hind  the  counter.  Be  it  enough  to  say  that  he  was  a 
native  of  Xew  Hampshire,  born  of  respectable  parents, 
and  had  received  an  ordinary  school  education,  with  a 
classic  finish  by  a  year  at  Gilmanton  Academy.  After 
journeying  on  foot  from  sunrise  till  nearly  noon  of  a 
summer's  day,  his  weariness  and  the  increasing  heat 
determined  him  to  sit  down  in  the  first  convenient 
shade,  and  await  the  coming  up  of  the  stage-coach. 
As  if  planted  on  purpose  for  him,  there  soon  appeared 
a  little  tuft  of  maples,  with  a  delightful  recess  in  the 


212  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

midst,  and  such  a  fresh  bubbling  spring  that  it  seemed 
never  to  have  sparkled  for  any  wayfarer  but  David 
Swan.  Virgin  or  not,  he  kissed  it  with  his  thirsty 
lips,  and  then  flung  himself  along  the  brink,  pillowing 
his  head  upon  some  shirts  and  a  pair  of  pantaloons, 
tied  up  in  a  striped  cotton  handkerchief.  The  sun 
beams  could  not  reach  him  ;  the  dust  did  not  yet  rise 
from  the  road  after  the  heavy  rain  of  yesterday ;  and 
his  grassy  lair  suited  the  young  man  better  than  a  bed 
of  down.  The  spring  murmured  drowsily  beside  him  ; 
the  branches  waved  dreamily  across  the  blue  sky  over 
head  ;  and  a  deep  sleep,  perchance  hiding  dreams 
within  its  depths,  fell  upon  David  Swan.  But  we  are 
to  relate  events  which  he  did  not  dream  of. 

While  he  lay  sound  asleep  in  the  shade,  other  peo 
ple  were  wide  awake,  and  passed  to  and  fro,  afoot,  on 
horseback,  and  in  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  along  the  sunny 
road  by  his  bedchamber.  Some  looked  neither  to  the 
right  hand  nor  the  left,  and  knew  not  that  he  was 
there ;  some  merely  glanced  that  way,  without  admit 
ting  the  slumberer  among  their  busy  thoughts ;  some 
laughed  to  see  how  soundly  he  slept ;  and  several, 
whose  hearts  were  brimming  full  of  scorn,  ejected 
their  venomous  superfluity  on  David  Swan.  A  middle- 
aged  widow,  when  nobody  else  was  near,  thrust  her 
head  a  little  way  into  the  recess,  and  vowed  that  the 
young  fellow  looked  charming  in  his  sleep.  A  tem 
perance  lecturer  saw  him,  and  wrought  poor  David 
into  the  texture  of  his  evening's  discourse,  as  an  awful 
instance  of  dead  drunkenness  by  the  roadside.  But 
censure,  praise,  merriment,  scorn,  and  indifference  were 
all  one,  or  rather  all  nothing,  to  David  Swan. 

He  had  slept  only  a  few  moments  when  a  br.pwn 
carriage,  drawn  by  a  handsome  pair  of  horses,  bowled 


DAVID  SWAN.  213 

easily  along,  and  was  brought  to  a  stand-still  nearly 
in  front  of  David's  resting-place.  A  linchpin  had 
fallen  out,  and  permitted  one  of  the  wheels  to  slide  off. 
The  damage  was  slight,  and  occasioned  merely  a  mo 
mentary  alarm  to  an  elderly  merchant  and  his  wife, 
who  were  returning  to  Boston  in  the  carriage.  While 
the  coachman  and  a  servant  were  replacing  the  wheel, 
the  lady  and  gentleman  sheltered  themselves  beneath 
the  maple-trees,  and  there  espied  the  bubbling  fount 
ain,  and  David  Swan  asleep  beside  it.  Impressed 
with  the  awe  which  the  humblest  sleeper  usually  sheds 
around  him,  the  merchant  trod  as  lightly  as  the  gout 
would  allow ;  and  his  spouse  took  good  heed  not  to 
rustle  her  silk  gown,  lest  David  should  start  up  all  of 
a  sudden. 

"  How  soundly  he  sleeps  !  "  whispered  the  old  gen 
tleman.  "  From  what  a  depth  he  draws  that  easy 
breath !  Such  sleep  as  that,  brought  on  without  an 
opiate,  would  be  worth  more  to  me  than  half  my  in 
come  ;  for  it  would  suppose  health  and  an  untroubled 
mind.'' 

uAnd  youth,  besides,"  said  the  lady.  "  Healthy 
and  quiet  age  does  not  sleep  thus.  Our  slumber  is  no 
more  like  his  than  our  wakefulness." 

The  longer  they  looked  the  more  did  this  elderly 
couple  feel  interested  in  the  unknown  youth,  to  whom 
the  wayside  and  the  maple  shade  were  as  a  secret 
chamber,  with  the  rich  gloom  of  damask  curtains 
brooding  over  him.  Perceiving  that  a  stray  sunbeam 
glimmered  down  upon  his  face,  the  lady  contrived  to 
twist  a  branch  aside,  so  as  to  intercept  it.  And  hav 
ing  done  this  little  act  of  kindness,  she  began  to  feel 
like  a  mother  to  him. 

"Providence  seems  to  have  laid  him  here,"  whis- 


214  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

pered  she  to  her  husband,  "and  to  have  brought  us 
hither  to  find  him,  after  our  disappointment  in  our 
cousin's  son.  Methinks  I  can  see  a  likeness  to  our 
departed  Henry.  Shall  we  waken  him  ?  " 

"  To  what  purpose  ?  "  said  the  merchant,  hesitating. 
"  We  know  nothing  of  the  youth's  character." 

"That  open  countenance!  "  replied  his  wife,  in  the 
same  hushed  voice,  yet  earnestly.  "This  innocent 
sleep!" 

While  these  whispers  were  passing,  the  sleeper's 
heart  did  not  throb,  nor  his  breath  become  agitated, 
nor  his  features  betray  the  least  token  of  interest. 
Yet  Fortune  was  bending  over  him,  just  ready  to  let 
fall  a  burden  of  gold.  The  old  merchant  had  lost  his 
only  son,  and  had  no  heir  to  his  wealth  except  a  dis 
tant  relative,  with  whose  conduct  he  was  dissatisfied. 
In  such  cases,  people  sometimes  do  stranger  things 
than  to  act  the  magician,  and  awaken  a  young  man  to 
splendor  who  fell  asleep  in  poverty. 

"  Shall  we  not  waken  him  ? "  repeated  the  lady, 
persuasively. 

"  The  coach  is  ready,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  behind. 

The  old  couple  started,  reddened,  and  hurried 
away,  mutually  wondering  that,  they  should  ever  have 
dreamed  of  doing  anything  so  very  ridiculous.  The 
merchant  threw  himself  back  in  the  carriage,  and  oc 
cupied  his  mind  with  the  plan  of  a  magnificent  asylum 
for  unfortunate  men  of  business.  Meanwhile,  David 
Swan  enjoyed  his  nap. 

The  carriage  could  not  have  gone  above  a  mile  or 
two,  when  a  pretty  young  girl  came  along,  with  a 
tripping  pace,  which  showed  precisely  how  her  little 
heart  was  dancing  in  her  bosom.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
merry  kind  of  motion  that  caused — is  there  any  harm 


DAVID   SWAN.  215 

in  saying  it  ?  —  her  garter  to  slip  its  knot.  Conscious 
that  the  silken  girth  —  if  silk  it  were  —  was  relaxing 
its  hold,  she  turned  aside  into  the  shelter  of  the  maple- 
trees,  and  there  found  a  young  man  asleep  by  the 
spring !  Blushing  as  red  as  any  rose  that  she  should 
have  intruded  into  a  gentleman's  bedchamber,  and  for 
such  a  purpose,  too,  she  was  about  to  make  her  escape 
on  tiptoe.  But  there  was  peril  near  the  sleeper.  A 
monster  of  a  bee  had  been  wandering  overhead — - 
buzz,  buzz,  buzz  —  now  among  the  leaves,  now  flashing 
through  the  strips  of  sunshine,  and  now  lost  in  the 
dark  shade,  till  finally  he  appeared  to  be  settling  on 
the  eyelid  of  David  Swan.  The  sting  of  a  bee  is  some 
times  deadly.  As  free  hearted  as  she  was  innocent, 
the  girl  attacked  the  intruder  with  her  handkerchief, 
brushed  him  soundly,  and  drove  him  from  beneath  the 
maple  shade.  How  sweet  a  picture !  This  good  deed 
accomplished,  with  quickened  breath,  and  a  deeper 
blush,  she  stole  a  glance  at  the  youthful  stranger  for 
whom  she  had  been  battling  with  a  dragon  in  the 
air. 

"  He  is  handsome  !  "  thought  she,  and  blushed  redder 
yet. 

How  could  it  be  that  no  dream  of  bliss  grew  so 
strong  within  him,  that,  shattered  by  its  very  strength, 
it  should  part  asunder,  and  allow  him  to  perceive  the 
girl  among  its  phantoms  ?  Why,  at  least,  did  no  smile 
of  welcome  brighten  upon  his  face  ?  She  was  come, 
the  maid  whose  soul,  according  to  the  old  and  beauti 
ful  idea,  had  been  severed  from  his  own,  and  whom, 
in  all  his  vague  but  passionate  desires,  he  yearned  to 
meet.  Her,  only,  could  he  love  with  a  perfect  love ; 
him,  only,  could  she  receive  into  the  depths  of  her 
heart ;  and  now  her  image  was  faintly  blushing  in  the 


216  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

fountain,  by  his  side  ;  should  it  pass  away,  its  happy 
lustre  would  never  gleam  upon  his  life  again. 

"  How  sound  he  sleeps !  "  murmured  the  girl. 

She  departed,  but  did  not  trip  along  the  road  so 
lightly  as  when  she  came. 

Now,  this  girl's  father  was  a  thriving  country  mer 
chant  in  the  neighborhood,  and  happened,  at  that 
identical  time,  to  be  looking  out  for  just  such  a  young 
man  as  David  Swan.  Had  David  formed  a  wayside 
acquaintance  with  the  daughter,  he  would  have  become 
the  father's  clerk,  and  all  else  in  natural  succession. 
So  here,  again,  had  good  fortune  —  the  best  of  for 
tunes  —  stolen  so  near  that  her  garments  brushed 
against  him  ;  and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter. 

The  girl  was  hardly  out  of  sight  when  two  men 
turned  aside  beneath  the  maple  shade.  Both  had  dark 
faces,  set  off  by  cloth  caps,  which  were  drawn  down 
aslant  over  their  brows.  Their  dresses  were  shabby, 
yet  had  a  certain  smartness.  These  were  a  couple  of 
rascals  who  got  their  living  by  whatever  the  devil 
sent  them,  and  -  now,  in  the  interim  of  other  business, 
had  staked  the  joint  profits  of  their  next  piece  of 
villany  on  a  game  of  cards,  which  was  to  have  been 
decided  here  under  the  trees.  But,  finding  David 
asleep  by  the  spring,  one  of  the  rogues  whispered  to 
his  fellow,  — 

"  Hist !  —  Do  you  see  that  bundle  under  his  head  ?  " 

The  other  villain  nodded,  winked,  and  leered. 

"  I  '11  bet  you  a  horn  of  brandy,"  said  the  first,  "  that 
the  chap  has  either  a  pocket-book,  or  a  snug  little 
hoard  of  small  change,  stowed  away  amongst  his 
shirts.  And  if  not  there,  we  shall  find  it  in  hia 
pantaloons  pocket." 

"  But  how  if  he  wakes  ?  "  said  the  other. 


DAVID  SWAN.  217 

His  companion  thrust  aside  his  waistcoat,  pointed 
to  the  handle  of  a  dirk,  and  nodded. 

"  So  be  it !"  muttered  the  second  villain. 

They  approached  the  unconscious  David,  and,  while 
one  pointed  the  dagger  towards  his  heart,  the  other 
began  to  search  the  bundle  beneath  his  head.  Their 
two  faces,  grim,  wrinkled,  and  ghastly  with  guilt  and 
fear,  bent  over  their  victim,  looking  horrible  enough 
to  be  mistaken  for  fiends,  should  he  suddenly  awake. 
Nay,  had  the  villains  glanced  aside  into  the  spring, 
even  they  would  hardly  have  known  themselves  as 
reflected  there.  But  David  Swan  had  never  worn  a 
more  tranquil  aspect,  even  when  asleep  on  his  mother's 
breast. 

"  I  must  take  away  the  bundle,"  whispered  one. 

44  If  he  stirs,  I  '11  strike,"  muttered  the  other. 

But,  at  this  moment,  a  dog,  scenting  along  the 
ground,  came  in  beneath  the  maple-trees,  and  gazed 
alternately  at  each  of  these  wicked  men,  and  then 
at  the  quiet  sleeper.  He  then  lapped  out  of  the 
fountain. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  one  villain.  "  "We  can  do  nothing 
now.  The  dosf's  master  must  be  close  behind." 

O 

"  Let 's  take  a  drink  and  be  off,"  said  the  other. 

The  man  with  the  dagger  thrust  back  the  weapon 
into  his  bosom,  and  drew  forth  a  pocket  pistol,  but  not 
of  that  kind  which  kills  by  a  single  discharge.  It  was 
a  flask  of  liquor,  with  a  block-tin  tumbler  screwed 
upon  the  mouth.  Each  drank  a  comfortable  dram, 
and  left  the  spot,  with  so  many  jests,  and  such 
laughter  at  their  unaccomplished  wickedness,  that 
they  might  be  said  to  have  gone  on  their  way  re 
joicing.  In  a  few  hours  they  had  forgotten  the  whole 
affair,  nor  once  imagined  that  the  recording  angel  had 


218  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

written  down  the  crime  of  murder  against  their  souls, 
in  letters  as  durable  as  eternity.  As  for  David  Swan, 
he  still  slept  quietly,  neither  conscious  of  the  shadow 
of  death  when  it  hung  over  him,  nor  of  the  glow  of 
renewed  life  when  that  shadow  was  withdrawn. 

He  slept,  but  no  longer  so  quietly  as  at  first.  An 
hour's  repose  had  snatched,  from  his  elastic  frame, 
the  weariness  with  which  many  hours  of  toil  had  bur 
dened  it.  Now  he  stirred  —  now,  moved  his  lips, 
without  a  sound  —  now,  talked,  in  an  inward  tone,  to 
the  noonday  spectres  of  his  dream.  But  a  noise  of 
wheels  came  rattling  louder  and  louder  along  the  road, 
until  it  dashed  through  the  dispersing  mist  of  David's 
slumber  —  and  there  was  the  stage-coach.  He  started 
up  with  all  his  ideas  about  him. 

"  Halloo,  driver  !  —  Take  a  passenger  ?  "  shouted 
he. 

"  Room  on  top  !  "  answered  the  driver. 

Up  mounted  David,  and  bowled  away  merrily 
towards  Boston,  without  so  much  as  a  parting  glance 
at  that  fountain  of  dreamlike  vicissitude.  He  knew 
not  that  a  phantom  of  Wealth  had  thrown  a  golden 
hue  upon  its  waters  —  nor  that  one  of  Love  had 
sighed  softly  to  their  murmur  —  nor  that  one  of  Death 
had  threatened  to  crimson  them  with  his  blood  —  all, 
in  the  brief  hour  since  he  lay  down  to  sleep.  Sleep 
ing  or  waking,  we  hear  not  the  airy  footsteps  of 
the  strange  things  that  almost  happen.  Does  it  not 
argue  a  superintending  Providence  that,  while  view 
less  and  unexpected  events  thrust  themselves  contin 
ually  athwart  our  path,  there  should  still  be  regularity 
enough  in  mortal  life  to  render  foresight  even  par- 
tially  available  ? 


SIGHTS   FROM  A    STEEPLE. 

So !  I  have  climbed  high,  and  my  reward  is  smalL 
Here  I  stand,  with  wearied  knees,  earth,  indeed,  at  a 
dizzy  depth  below,  but  heaven  far,  far  beyond  me 
still.  Oh  that  I  could  soar  up  into  the  very  zenith, 
where  man  never  breathed,  nor  eagle  ever  flew,  and 
where  the  ethereal  azure  melts  away  from  the  eye, 
and  appears  only  a  deepened  shade  of  nothingness ! 
And  yet  I  shiver  at  that  cold  and  solitary  thought. 
What  clouds  are  gathering  in  the  golden  west,  with 
direfid  intent  against  the  brightness  and  the  warmth 
of  this  summer  afternoon  I  They  are  ponderous  air 
ships,  black  as  death,  and  freighted  with  the  tempest ; 
and  at  intervals  their  thunder,  the  signal  guns  of  that 
unearthly  squadron,  rolls  distant  along  the  deep  of 
heaven.  These  nearer  heaps  of  fleecy  vapor  —  me- 
thinks  I  could  roll  and  toss  upon  them  the  whole  day 
long  !  —  seem  scattered  here  and  there  for  the  repose 
of  tired  pilgrims  through  the  sky.  Perhaps  —  for 
who  can  tell  ?  —  beautiful  spirits  are  disporting  them 
selves  there,  and  will  bless  my  mortal  eye  with  the 
brief  appearance  of  their  curly  locks  of  golden  light, 
and  laughing  faces,  fair  and  faint  as  the  people  of  a 
rosy  dream.  Or,  where  the  floating  mass  so  imper 
fectly  obstructs  the  color  of  the  firmament,  a  slender 
foot  and  fairy  limb,  resting  too  heavily  upon  the  frail 
support,  may  be  thrust  through,  and  suddenly  with 
drawn,  while  longing  fancy  follows  them  in  vain. 
Yonder  again  is  an  airy  archipelago,  where  the  sun- 


220  TWICE-TOLD   TALES, 

beams  love  to  linger  in  their  journeyings  through 
space.  Every  one  of  those  little  clouds  has  been 
dipped  and  steeped  in  radiance,  which  the  slightest 
pressure  might  disengage  in  silvery  profusion,  like 
water  wrung  from  a  sea-maid's  hair.  Bright  they  are 
as  a  young  man's  visions,  and,  like  them,  would  be 
realized  in  dullness,  obscurity,  and  tears.  I  will  look 
on  them  no  more. 

In  three  parts  of  the  visible  circle,  whose  centre  is 
this  spire,  I  discern  cultivated  fields,  villages,  white 
country  seats,  the  waving  lines  of  rivulets,  little  placid 
lakes,  and  here  and  there  a  rising  ground,  that  would 
fain  be  termed  a  hill.  On  the  fourth  side  is  the  sea, 
stretching  away  towards  a  viewless  boundary,  blue 
and  calm,  except  where  the  passing  anger  of  a  shadow 
flits  across  its  surface,  and  is  gone.  Hitherward,  a 
broad  inlet  penetrates  far  into  the  land ;  on  the  verge 
of  the  harbor,  formed  by  its  extremity,  is  a  town ;  and 
over  it  am  I,  a  watchman,  all-heeding  and  unheeded. 
Oh  that  the  multitude  of  chimneys  could  speak,  like 
those  of  Madrid,  and  betray,  in  smoky  whispers,  the 
secrets  of  all  who,  since  their  first  foundation,  have 
assembled  at  the  hearths  within  !  Oh  that  the  Limp 
ing  Devil  of  Le  Sage  would  perch  beside  me  here, 
extend  his  wand  over  this  contiguity  of  roofs,  uncover 
every  chamber,  and  make  me  familiar  with  their  in 
habitants  !  The  most  desirable  mode  of  existence 
might  be  that  of  a  spiritualized  Paul  Pry,  hovering 
invisible  round  man  and  woman,  witnessing  their  deeds, 
searching  into  their  hearts,  borrowing  brightness  from 
their  felicity  and  shade  from  their  sorrow,  and  retain 
ing  no  emotion  peculiar  to  himself.  But  none  of  these 
things  are  possible  ;  and  if  I  would  know  the  interior 
of  brick  walls,  or  the  mystery  of  human  bosoms,  I  can 
but  guess. 


SIGHTS   FROM  A    STEEPLE.  221 

Yonder  is  a  fair  street,  extending  north  and  south* 
The  stately  mansions  are  placed  each  on  its  carpet  of 
verdant  grass,  and  a  long  flight  of  steps  descends  from 
every  door  to  the  pavement.  Ornamental  trees  —  the 
broad-leafed  horse-chestnut,  the  elm  so  lofty  and  bend 
ing,  the  graceful  but  infrequent  willow,  and  others 
whereof  I  know  not  the  names  —  grow  thrivingly 
among  brick  and  stone.  The  oblique  rays  of  the  sun 
are  intercepted  by  these  green  citizens,  and  by  the 
houses,  so  that  one  side  of  the  street  is  a  shaded  and 
pleasant  walk.  On  its  whole  extent  there  is  now  but  a 
single  passenger,  advancing  from  the  upper  end ;  and 
he,  unless  distance  and  the  medium  of  a  pocket  spy 
glass  do  him  more  than  justice,  is  a  fine  young  man 
of  twenty.  He  saunters  slowly  forward,  slapping  his 
left  hand  with  his  folded  gloves,  bending  his  eyes 
upon  the  pavement,  and  sometimes  raising  them  to 
throw  a  glance  before  him.  Certainly,  he  has  a  pen 
sive  air.  Is  he  in  doubt,  or  in  debt  ?  Is  he,  if  the 
question  be  allowable,  in  love  ?  Does  he  strive  to  be 
melancholy  and  gentleman-like  ?  Or,  is  he  merely 
overcome  by  the  heat  ?  But  I  bid  him  farewell  for 
the  present.  The  door  of  one  of  the  houses — an  aris 
tocratic  edifice,  with  curtains  of  purple  and  gold  wav 
ing  from  the  windows,  is  now  opened,  and  down  the 
steps  come  two  ladies,  swinging  their  parasols,  and 
lightly  arrayed  for  a  summer  ramble.  Both  are  young, 
both  are  pretty,  but  methinks  the  left-hand  lass  is  the 
fairer  of  the  twain  ;  and,  though  she  be  so  serious  at 
this  moment,  I  could  swear  that  there  is  a  treasure  of 
gentle  fun  within  her.  They  stand  talking  a  little 
while  upon  the  steps,  and  finally  proceed  up  the  street. 
Meantime,  as  their  faces  are  now  turned  from  me,  I 
may  look  elsewhere. 


222  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Upon  that  wharf,  and  down  the  corresponding 
street,  is  a  busy  contrast  to  the  quiet  scene  which  I 
have  just  noticed.  Business  evidently  has  its  centre 
there,  and  many  a  man  is  wasting  the  summer  after 
noon  in  labor  and  anxiety,  in  losing  riches  or  in  gain 
ing  them,  when  he  would  be  wiser  to  flee  away  to  some 
pleasant  country  village,  or  shaded  lake  in  the  forest, 
or  wild  and  cool  sea-beach.  I  see  vessels  unlading  at 
the  wharf,  and  precious  merchandise  strewn  upon  the 
ground,  abundantly  as  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  that 
market  whence  no  goods  return,  and  where  there  is 
no  captain  nor  supercargo  to  render  an  account  of 
sales.  Here,  the  clerks  are  diligent  with  their  paper 
and  pencils,  and  sailors  ply  the  block  and  tackle  that 
hang  over  the  Kold,  accompanying  their  toil  with  cries, 
long  drawn  and  roughly  melodious,  till  the  bales  and 
puncheons  ascend  to  upper  air.  At  a  little  distance  a 
group  of  gentlemen  are  assembled  round  the  door  of 
a  warehouse.  Grave  seniors  be  they,  and  I  would 
wager  —  if  it  were  safe  in  these  times  to  be  responsi 
ble  for  any  one  —  that  the  least  eminent  among  them 
might  vie  with  old  Vicentio,  that  incomparable  traf 
ficker  of  Pisa.  I  can  even  select  the  wealthiest  of  the 
company.  It  is  the  elderly  personage,  in  somewhat 
rusty  black,  with  powdered  hair,  the  superfluous  white 
ness  of  which  is  visible  upon  the  cape  of  his  coat. 
His  twenty  ships  are  wafted  on  some  of  their  many 
courses  by  every  breeze  that  blows,  and  his  name  —  I 
will  venture  to  say,  though  I  know  it  not  —  is  a  famil 
iar  sound  among  the  far  separated  merchants  of 
Europe  and  the  Indies. 

But  I  bestow  too  much  of  my  attention  in  this  quar 
ter.  On  looking  again  to  the  long  and  shady  walk,  I 
perceive  that  the  two  fair  girls  have  encountered  the 


SIGHTS   FROM  A    STEEPLE.  223 

young  man.  After  a  sort  of  shyness  in  the  recognition, 
he  turns  back  with  them.  Moreover,  he  has  sanctioned 
my  taste  in  regard  to  his  companions  by  placing  him 
self  on  the  inner  side  of  the  pavement,  nearest  the 
Venus  to  whom  I  —  enacting,  on  a  steeple  top,  the 
part  of  Paris  on  the  top  of  Ida  —  adjudged  the  golden 
apple. 

In  two  streets,  converging  at  right  angles  towards 
my  watchtower,  I  distinguish  three  different  proces 
sions.  One  is  a  proud  array  of  voluntary  soldiers,  in 
bright  uniform,  resembling,  from  the  height  whence  I 
look  down,  the  painted  veterans  that  garrison  the  win 
dows  of  a  toyshop.  And  yet,  it  stirs  my  heart ;  their 
regidar  advance,  their  nodding  plumes,  the  sunflash  on 
their  bayonets  and  musket  barrels,  the  roll  of  their 
drums  ascending  past  me,  and  the  fife  ever  and  anon 
piercing  through  —  these  things  have  wakened  a  war 
like  fire,  peaceful  though  I  be.  Close  to  their  rear 
marches  a  battalion  of  school-boys,  ranged  in  crooked 
and  irregular  platoons,  shouldering  sticks,  thumping  a 
harsh  and  unripe  clatter  from  an  instrument  of  tin, 
and  ridiculously  aping  the  intricate  manoeuvres  of  the 
foremost  band.  Nevertheless,  as  slight  differences  are 
scarcely  perceptible  from  a  church  spire,  one  might  be 
tempted  to  ask,  "  Which  are  the  boys  ?  "  —  or  rather, 
"  Which  the  men  ?  "  But,  leaving  these,  let  us  turn 
to  the  third  procession,  which,  though  sadder  in  out 
ward  show,  may  excite  identical  reflections  in  the 
thoughtful  mind.  It  is  a  funeral.  A  hearse,  drawn 
by  a  black  and  bony  steed,  and  covered  by  a  dusty 
pall ;  two  or  three  coaches  rumbling  over  the  stones, 
their  drivers  half  asleep ;  a  dozen  couple  of  careless 
mourners  in  their  every-day  attire ;  such  was  not  the 
fashion  of  our  fathers,  when  they  carried  a  friend  to 


224  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

his  grave.  There  is  now  no  doleful  clang  of  the  bell 
to  proclaim  sorrow  to  the  town.  Was  the  King  of 
Terrors  more  awful  in  those  clays  than  in  our  own, 
that  wisdom  and  philosophy  have  been  able  to  produce 
this  change?  Not  so.  Here  is  a  proof  that  he  retains 
his  proper  majesty.  The  military  men  and  the  mili 
tary  boys  are  wheeling  round  the  corner,  and  meet 
the  funeral  full  in  the  face.  Immediately  the  drum  is 
silent,  all  but  the  tap  that  regulates  each  simultaneous 
footfall.  The  soldiers  yield  the  path  to  the  dusty 
hearse  and  unpretending  train,  and  the  children  quit 
their  ranks,  and  cluster  on  the  sidewalks,  with  timo 
rous  and  instinctive  curiosity.  The  mourners  enter  the 
churchyard  at  the  base  of  the  steeple,  and  pause  by  an 
open  grave  among  the  burial  stones ;  the  lightning 
glimmers  on  them  as  they  lower  down  the  coffin,  and 
the  thunder  rattles  heavily  while  they  throw  the  earth 
upon  its  lid.  Verily,  the  shower  is  near,  and  I  trem 
ble  for  the  young  man  and  the  girls,  who  have  now 
disappeared  from  the  long  and  shady  street. 

How  various  are  the  situations  of  the  people  covered 
by  the  roofs  beneath  me,  and  how  diversified  are  the 
events  at  this  moment  befalling  them  !  The  new  born, 
the  aged,  the  dying,  the  strong  in  life,  and  the  recent 
dead,  are  in  the  chambers  of  these  many  mansions. 
The  full  of  hope,  the  happy,  the  miserable,  and  the 
desperate,  dwell  together  within  the  circle  of  my 
glance.  In  some  of  the  houses  over  which  my  eyes 
roam  so  coldly,  guilt  is  entering  into  hearts  that  are 
still  tenanted  by  a  debased  and  trodden  virtue, — • 
guilt  is  on  the  very  edge  of  commission,  and  the  im 
pending  deed  might  be  averted  ,•  guilt  is  done,  and  the 
criminal  wonders  if  it  be  irrevocable.  There  are  broad 
thoughts  struggling  in  my  mind,  and,  were  I  able  to 


SIGHTS  FROM  A    STEEPLE.  225 

give  them  distinctness,  they  would  make  their  way  in 
eloquence.     Lo  !  the  raindrops  are  descending. 

The  clouds,  within  a  little  time,  have  gathered  over 
all  the  sky,  hanging  heavily,  as  if  about  to  drop  in 
one  unbroken  mass  upon  the  earth.  At  intervals,  the 
lightning  flashes  from  their  brooding  hearts,  quivers, 
disappears,  and  then  comes  the  thunder,  travelling 
slowly  after  its  twin-born  flame.  A  strong  wind  has 
sprung  up,  howls  through  the  darkened  streets,  and 
raises  the  dust  in  dense  bodies,  to  rebel  against  the  ap 
proaching  storm.  The  disbanded  soldiers  fly,  the  fu 
neral  has  already  vanished  like  its  dead,  and  all  people 
hurry  homeward  —  all  that  have  a  home  ;  while  a  few 
lounge  by  the  corners,  or  trudge  on  desperately,  at 
their  leisure.  In  a  narrow  lane,  which  communicates 
with  the  shady  street,  I  discern  the  rich  old  mer 
chant,  putting  himself  to  the  top  of  his  speed,  lest  the 
rain  should  convert  his  hair  powder  to  a  paste.  Un 
happy  gentleman !  By  the  slow  vehemence  and  pain 
ful  moderation  wherewith  he  journeys,  it  is  but  too 
evident  that  Podagra  has  left  its  thrilling  tenderness 
in  his  great  toe.  But  yonder,  at  a  far  more  rapid  pace, 
come  three  other  of  my  acquaintance,  the  two  pretty 
girls  and  the  young  man,  unseasonably  interrupted  in 
their  walk.  Their  footsteps  are  supported  by  the  risen 
dust,  —  the  wind  lends  them  its  velocity,  —  they  fly 
like  three  sea-birds  driven  landward  by  the  tempestu 
ous  breeze.  The  ladies  would  not  thus  rival  Atalanta 
if  they  but  knew  that  any  one  were  at  leisure  to  ob 
serve  them.  Ah  !  as  they  hasten  onward,  laughing  in 
the  angry  face  of  nature,  a  sudden  catastrophe  has 
chanced.  At  the  comer  where  the  narrow  lane  enters 
into  the  street,  they  come  plump  against  the  old  mer 
chant,  whose  tortoise  motion  has  just  brought  him  to 

VOL.   I.  15 


226  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

that  point.  He  likes  not  the  sweet  encounter ;  the 
darkness  of  the  whole  air  gathers  speedily  upon  his 
visage,  and  there  is  a  pause  on  both  sides.  Finally, 
he  thrusts  aside  the  youth  with  little  courtesy,  seizes 
an  arm  of  each  of  the  two  girls,  and  plods  onward, 
like  a  magician  with  a  prize  of  captive  fairies.  All 
this  is  easy  to  be  understood.  How  disconsolate  the 
poor  lover  stands  !  regardless  of  the  rain  that  threatens 
an  exceeding  damage  to  his  well-fashioned  habiliments, 
till  he  catches  a  backward  glance  of  mirth  from  a 
bright  eye,  and  turns  away  with  whatever  comfort  it 
conveys. 

The  old  man  and  his  daughters  are  safely  housed, 
and  now  the  storm  lets  loose  its  fury.  In  every  dwell 
ing  I  perceive  the  faces  of  the  chambermaids  as  they 
shut  down  the  windows,  excluding  the  impetuous 
shower,  and  shrinking  away  from  the  quick  fiery 
glare.  The  large  drops  descend  with  force  upon  the 
slated  roofs,  and  rise  again  in  smoke.  There  is  a 
rush  and  roar,  as  of  a  river  through  the  air,  and 
muddy  streams  bubble  majestically  along  the  pave 
ment,  whirl  their  dusky  foam  into  the  kennel,  and 
disappear  beneath  iron  grates.  Thus  did  Arethusa 
sink.  I  love  not  my  station  here  aloft,  in  the  midst 
of  the  tumult  which  I  am  powerless  to  direct  or  quell, 
with  the  blue  lightning  wrinkling  on  my  brow,  and  the 
thunder  muttering  its  first  awful  syllables  in  my  ear. 
I  will  descend.  Yet  let  me  give  another  glance  to  the 
sea,  where  the  foam  breaks  out  in  long  white  lines 
upon  a  broad  expanse  of  blackness,  or  boils  up  in  far 
distant  points,  like  snowy  mountain  tops  in  the  eddies 
of  a  flood  ;  and  let  me  look  once  more  at  the  green 
plain,  and  little  hills  of  the  country,  over  which  the 
giant  of  the  storm  is  striding  in  robes  of  mist,  and  at 


SIGHTS  FROM  A    STEEPLE.  227 

the  town,  whose  obscured  and  desolate  streets  might 
beseem  a  city  of  the  dead  ;  and  turning  a  single  mo 
ment  to  the  sky,  now  gloomy  as  an  author's  prospects, 
I  prepare  to  resume  my  station  on  lower  earth.  But 
stay !  A  little  speck  of  azure  has  widened  in  the 
western  heavens  ;  the  sunbeams  find  a  passage,  and 
go  rejoicing  through  the  tempest ;  and  on  yonder 
darkest  cloud,  born,  like  hallowed  hopes,  of  the  glory 
of  another  world  and  the  trouble  and  tears  of  this, 
brightens  forth  the  Rainbow ! 


THE  HOLLOW   OF  THE  THREE  HILLS. 

IN  those  strange  old  times,  when  fantastic  dreams 
and  madmen's  reveries  were  realized  among  the 
actual  circumstances  of  life,  two  persons  met  together 
at  an  appointed  hour  and  place.  One  was  a  lady, 
graceful  in  form  and  fair  of  feature,  though  pale  and 
troubled,  and  smitten  with  an  untimely  blight  in  what 
should  have  been  the  fullest  bloom  of  her  years  ;  the 
other  was  an  ancient  and  meanly-dressed  woman,  of 
ill-favored  aspect,  and  so  withered,  shrunken,  and  de 
crepit,  that  even  the  space  since  she  began  to  decay 
must  have  exceeded  the  ordinary  term  of  human 
existence.  In  the  spot  where  they  encountered,  no 
mortal  could  observe  them.  Three  little  hills  stood 
near  each  other,  and  down  in  the  midst  of  them  sunk 
a  hollow  basin,  almost  mathematically  circular,  two  or 
three  hundred  feet  in  breadth,  and  of  such  depth  that 
a  stately  cedar  might  but  just  be  visible  above  the 
sides.  Dwarf  pines  were  numerous  upon  the  hills, 
and  partly  fringed  the  outer  verge  of  the  intermediate 
hollow,  within  which  there  was  nothing  but  the  brown 
grass  of  October,  and  here  and  there  a  tree  trunk  that 
had  fallen  long  ago,  and  lay  mouldering  with  no 
green  successor  from  its  roots.  One  of  these  masses 
of  decaying  wood,  formerly  a  majestic  oak,  rested 
close  beside  a  pool  of  green  and  sluggish  water  at  the 
bottom  of  the  basin.  Such  scenes  as  this  (so  gray 
tradition  tells)  were  once  the  resort  of  the  Power  of 
Evil  and  his  plighted  subjects  ;  and  here,  at  midnight 


THE   HOLLOW  OF   THE    THREE  HILLS.     229 

or  on  the  dim  verge  of  evening",  they  were  said  to 
stand  round  the  mantling  pool,  disturbing  its  putrid 
waters  in  the  performance  of  an  impious  baptismal 
rite.  The  chill  beauty  of  an  autumnal  sunset  was 
now  gilding  the  three  hill-tops,  whence  a  paler  tint 
stole  down  their  sides  into  the  hollow. 

44  Here  is  our  pleasant  meeting  come  to  pass,"  said 
the  aged  crone,  "  according  as  thou  hast  desired.  Say 
quickly  what  thou  wouldst  have  of  me,  for  there  is  but 
a  short  hour  that  we  may  tarry  here." 

As  the  old  withered  woman  spoke,  a  smile  glim 
mered  on  her  countenance,  like  lamplight  on  the  wall 
of  a  sepulchre.  The  lady  trembled,  and  cast  her  eyes 
upward  to  the  verge  of  the  basin,  as  if  meditating  to 
return  with  her  purpose  unaccomplished.  But  it  was 
not  so  ordained. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  in  this  land,  as  you  know,"  said 
she  at  length.  u  Whence  I  come  it  matters  not ;  but 
I  have  left  those  behind  me  with  whom  my  fate  was 
intimately  bound,  and  from  whom  I  am  cut  off  for 
ever.  There  is  a  weight  in  my  bosom  that  I  cannot 
away  with,  and  I  have  come  hither  to  inquire  of  their 
welfare." 

"  And  who  is  there  by  this  green  pool  that  can 
bring  thee  news  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  ?  "  cried 
the  old  woman,  peering  into  the  lady's  face.  "  Not 
from  my  lips  mayst  thou  hear  these  tidings ;  yet,  be 
thou  bold,  and  the  daylight  shall  not  pass  away  from 
yonder  hill-top  before  thy  wish  be  granted." 

"  I  will  do  your  bidding  though  I  die,"  replied  the 
lady  desperately. 

The  old  woman  seated  herself  on  the  trunk  of  the 
fallen  tree,  threw  aside  the  hood  that  shrouded  her 
gray  locks,  and  beckoned  her  companion  to  draw  near. 


230  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"Kneel  down,"  she  said,  "and  lay  your  forehead 
on  my  knees.'* 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  but  the  anxiety  that  had 
long  been  kindling  burned  fiercely  up  within  her. 
As  she  knelt  down,  the  border  of  her  garment  was 
dipped  into  the  pool ;  she  laid  her  forehead  on  the  old 
woman's  knees,  and  the  latter  drew  a  cloak  about  the 
lady's  face,  so  that  she  was  in  darkness.  Then  she 
heard  the  muttered  words  of  prayer,  in  the  midst  of 
which  she  started,  and  would  have  arisen. 

"  Let  me  flee,  —  let  me  flee  and  hide  myself,  that 
they  may  not  look  upon  me !  "  she  cried.  But,  with 
returning  recollection,  she  hushed  herself,  and  was 
still  as  death. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  other  voices  —  familiar  in  in 
fancy,  and  unforgotten  through  many  wanderings,  and 
in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  heart  and  fortune  — 
were  mingling  with  the  accents  of  the  prayer.  At 
first  the  words  were  faint  and  indistinct,  not  rendered 
so  by  distance,  but  rather  resembling  the  dim  pages 
of  a  book  which  we  strive  to  read  by  an  imperfect  and 
gradually  brightening  light.  In  such  a  manner,  as 
the  prayer  proceeded,  did  those  voices  strengthen  upon 
the  ear ;  till  at  length  the  petition  ended,  and  the  con 
versation  of  an  aged  man,  and  of  a  woman  broken 
and  decayed  like  himself,  became  distinctly  audible  to 
the  lady  as  she  knelt.  But  those  strangers  appeared 
not  to  stand  in  the  hollow  depth  between  the  three 
hills.  Their  voices  were  encompassed  and  reechoed 
by  the  walls  of  a  chamber,  the  windows  of  which  wore 
rattling  in  the  breeze  ;  the  regular  vibration  of  a  clock, 
the  crackling  of  a  fire,  and  the  tinkling  of  the  embers 
as  they  fell  among  the  ashes,  rendered  the  scene*  al 
most  as  vivid  as  if  painted  to  the  eye.  By  a  melan- 


THE   HOLLOW  OF   THE    THREE  HILLS.     231 

choly  hearth  sat  these  two  old  people,  the  man  calmly 
despondent,  the  woman  querulous  and  tearful,  and 
their  words  were  all  of  sorrow.  They  spoke  of  a 
daughter,  a  wanderer  they  knew  not  where,  bearing 
dishonor  along  with  her,  and  leaving  shame  and  afflic 
tion  to  bring  their  gray  heads  to  the  grave.  They 
alluded  also  to  other  and  more  recent  woe,  but  in  the 
midst  of  their  talk  their  voices  seemed  to  melt  into  the 
sound  of  the  wind  sweeping  mournfully  among  the  au 
tumn  leaves  ;  and  when  the  lady  lifted  her  eyes,  there 
was  she  kneeling  in  the  hollow  between  three  hills. 

"  A  weary  and  lonesome  time  yonder  old  couple 
have  of  it,"  remarked  the  old  woman,  smiling  in  the 
lady's  face. 

"  And  did  you  also  hear  them  ?  "  exclaimed  she,  a 
sense  of  intolerable  humiliation  triumphing  over  her 
agony  and  fear. 

"  Yea ;  and  we  have  yet  more  to  hear,"  replied  the 
old  woman.  "  Wherefore,  cover  thy  face  quickly." 

Again  the  withered  hag  poured  forth  the  monoto 
nous  words  of  a  prayer  that  was  not  meant  to  be  ac 
ceptable  in  heaven  ;  and  soon,  in  the  pauses  of  her 
breath,  strange  murmurings  began  to  thicken,  grad 
ually  increasing  so  as  to  drown  and  overpower  the 
charm  by  which  they  grew.  Shrieks  pierced  through 
the  obscurity  of  sound,  and  were  succeeded  by  the 
singing  of  sweet  female  voices,  which,  in  their  turn, 
gave  way  to  a  wild  roar  of  laughter,  broken  suddenly 
by  groanings  and  sobs,  forming  altogether  a  ghastly 
confusion  of  terror  and  mourning  and  mirth.  Chains 
were  rattling,  fierce  and  stern  voices  uttered  threats, 
and  the  scourge  resounded  at  their  command.  All 
these  noises  deepened  and  became  substantial  to  the 
listener's  ear,  till  she  could  distinguish  every  soft  and 


232  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

dreamy  accent  of  the  love  songs  that  died  causelessly 
into  funeral  hymns.  She  shuddered  at  the  unpro 
voked  wrath  which  blazed  up  like  the  spontaneous 
kindling  of  flame,  and  she  grew  faint  at  the  fearful 
merriment  raging  miserably  around  her.  In  the 
midst  of  this  wild  scene,  where  unbound  passions 
jostled  each  other  in  a  drunken  career,  there  was  one 
solemn  voice  of  a  man,  and  a  manly  and  melodious 
voice  it  might  once  have  been.  He  went  to  and  fro 
continually,  and  his  feet  sounded  upon  the  floor.  In 
each  member  of  that  frenzied  company,  whose  own 
burning  thoughts  had  become  their  exclusive  world, 
he  sought  an  auditor  for  the  story  of  his  individual 
wrong,  and  interpreted  their  laughter  and  tears  as  his 
reward  of  scorn  or  pity.  He  spoke  of  woman's  per 
fidy,  of  a  wife  who  had  broken  her  holiest  vows,  of  a 
home  and  heart  made  desolate.  Even  as  he  went  on, 
the  shout,  the  laugh,  the  shriek,  the  sob,  rose  up  in 
unison,  till  they  changed  into  the  hollow,  fitful,  and 
uneven  sound  of  the  wind,  as  it  fought  among  the  pine- 
trees  on  those  three  lonely  hills.  The  lady  looked  up, 
and  there  was  the  withered  woman  smiling  in  her  face. 

"  Couldst  thou  have  thought  there  were  such  merry 
times  in  a  mad-house  ?  "  inquired  the  latter. 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  lady  to  herself ;  "  there  is 
mirth  within  its  walls,  but  misery,  misery  without." 

"  Wouldst  thou  hear  more  ? "  demanded  the  old 
woman. 

"  There  is  one  other  voice  I  would  fain  listen  to 
again,"  replied  the  lady,  faintly. 

"  Then,  lay  down  thy  head  speedily  upon  my  knees, 
that  thou  mayst  get  thee  hence  before  the  hour  be 
past." 

The  golden  skirts  of  day  were  yet  lingering  upon 


THE   HOLLOW  OF   THE   THREE  HILLS.    233 

the  hills,  but  deep  shades  obscured  the  hollow  and  the 
pool,  as  if  sombre  night  were  rising  thence  to  over 
spread  the  world.  Again  that  evil  woman  began  to 
weave  her  spell.  Long  did  it  proceed  unanswered,  till 
the  knolling  of  a  bell  stole  in  among  the  intervals  of 
her  words,  like  a  clang  that  had  travelled  far  over 
valley  and  rising  ground,  and  was  just  ready  to  die  in 
the  air.  The  lady  shook  upon  her  companion's  knees 
as  she  heard  that  boding  sound.  Stronger  it  grew 
and  sadder,  and  deepened  into  the  tone  of  a  death 
bell,  knolling  dolefully  from  some  ivy-mantled  tower, 
and  bearing  tidings  of  mortality  and  woe  to  the  cot 
tage,  to  the  hall,  and  to  the  solitary  wayfarer,  that  all 
might  weep  for  the  doom  appointed  in  turn  to  them. 
Then  came  a  measured  tread,  passing  slowly,  slowly 
on,  as  of  mourners  with  a  coffin,  their  garments  trail 
ing  on  the  ground,  so  that  the  ear  could  measure  the 
length  of  their  melancholy  array.  Before  them  went 
the  priest,  reading  the  burial  service,  while  the  leaves 
of  his  book  were  rustling  in  the  breeze.  And  though 
no  voice  but  his  was  heard  to  speak  aloud,  still  there 
were  revilings  and  anathemas,  whispered  but  distinct, 
from  women  and  from  men,  breathed  against  the 
daughter  who  had  wrung  the  aged  hearts  of  her  par 
ents,  —  the  wife  who  had  betrayed  the  trusting  fond 
ness  of  her  husband,  —  the  mother  who  had  sinned 
against  natural  affection,  and  left  her  child  to  die. 
The  sweeping  sound  of  the  funeral  train  faded  away 
Uke  a  thin  vapor,  and  the  wind,  that  just  before  had 
seemed  to  shake  the  coffin  pall,  moaned  sadly  round 
the  verge  of  the  Hollow  between  three  Hills.  But 
when  the  old  woman  stirred  the  kneeling  lady,  she 
lifted  not  her  head. 

"  Here   has  been  a  sweet  hour's  sport ! "  said  tho 
withered  crone,  chuckling  to  herself. 


THE   TOLL-GATHERER'S   DAY. 

A   SKETCH   OF   TRANSITORY   LIFE. 

METHINKS,  for  a  person  whose  instinct  bids  him 
rather  to  pore  over  the  current  of  life  than  to  plunge 
into  its  tumultuous  waves,  no  undesirable  retreat  were 
a  toll-house  beside  some  thronged  thoroughfare  of  the 
land.  In  youth,  perhaps,  it  is  good  for  the  observer 
to  run  about  the  earth  —  to  leave  the  track  of  his  foot 
steps  far  and  wide  —  to  mingle  himself  with  the  action 
of  numberless  vicissitudes ;  and,  finally,  in  some  calm 
solitude,  to  feed  a  musing  spirit  on  all  that  he  has  seen 
and  felt.  But  there  are  natures  too  indolent,  or  too 
sensitive,  to  endure  the  dust,  the  sunshine,  or  the  rain, 
the  turmoil  of  moral  and  physical  elements,  to  which 
all  the  wayfarers  of  the  world  expose  themselves.  For 
such  a  man,  how  pleasant  a  miracle,  could  life  be 
made  to  roll  its  variegated  length  by  the  threshold  of 
his  own  hermitage,  and  the  great  globe,  as  it  were, 
perform  its  revolutions  and  shift  its  thousand  scenes 
before  his  eyes  without  whirling  him  onward  in  its 
course.  If  any  mortal  be  favored  with  a  lot  analogous 
to  this,  it  is  the  toll-gatherer.  So,  at  least,  have  I 
often  fancied,  while  lounging  on  a  bench  at  the  door 
of  a  small  square  edifice,  which  stands  between  shore 
and  shore  in  the  midst  of  a  long  bridge.  Beneath  the 
timbers  ebbs  and  flows  an  arm  of  the  sea ;  while  above, 
like  the  life-blood  through  a  great  artery,  the  travel  of 
the  north  and  east  is  continually  throbbing.  Sitting  on 


THE    TOLL-GATHERER9 S  DAY.  23f> 

the  aforesaid  bench  I  amuse  myself  with  a  conception, 
illustrated  by  numerous  pencil  sketches  in  the  air,  of 
the  toll-gatherer's  day. 

In  the  morning  —  dim,  gray,  dewy  summer's  morn 
—  the  distant  roll  of  ponderous  wheels  begins  to 
mingle  with  my  old  friend's  slumbers,  creaking  more 
and  more  harshly  through  the  midst  of  his  dream,  and 
gradually  replacing  it  with  realities.  Hardly  con 
scious  of  the  change  from  sleep  to  wakefulness,  he 
finds  himself  partly  clad  and  throwing  wide  the  toll- 
gates  for  the  passage  of  a  fragrant  load  of  hay.  The 
timbers  groan  beneath  the  slow-revolving  wheels ;  one 
sturdy  yeoman  stalks  beside  the  oxen,  and,  peering 
from  the  summit  of  the  hay,  by  the  glimmer  of  the 
half-extinguished  lantern  over  the  toll-house,  is  seen 
the  drowsy  visage  of  his  comrade,  who  has  enjoj-ed  a 
nap  some  ten  miles  long.  The  toll  is  paid  —  creak, 
creak,  again  go  the  wheels,  and  the  huge  haymow  van 
ishes  into  the  morning  mist.  As  yet,  nature  is  but 
half  awake,  and  familiar  objects  appear  visionary. 
But  yonder,  dashing  from  the  shore  with  a  rattling 
thunder  of  the  wheels  and  a  confused  clatter  of  hoofs, 
comes  the  never-tiring  mail,  which  has  hurried  onward 
at  the  same  headlong,  restless  rate,  all  through  the 
quiet  night.  The  bridge  resounds  in  one  continued 
peal  as  the  coach  rolls  on  without  a  pause,  merely  af 
fording  the  toll-gatherer  a  glimpse  at  the  sleepy  pas 
sengers,  who  now  bestir  their  torpid  limbs  and  snuff 
a  cordial  in  the  briny  air.  The  mom  breathes  upon 
them  and  blushes,  and  they  forget  how  wearily  the 
darkness  toiled  away.  And  behold  now  the  fervid 
day,  in  his  bright  chariot,  glittering  aslant  over  the 
waves,  nor  scorning  to  throw  a  tribute  of  his  golden 
beams  on  the  toll-gatherer's  little  hermitage.  The 


236  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

old  man  looks  eastward,  and  (for  he  is  a  moralizer) 
frames  a  simile  of  the  stage-coach  and  the  sun. 

While  the  world  is  rousing  itself,  we  may  glance 
slightly  at  the  scene  of  our  sketch.  It  sits  above  the 
bosom  of  the  broad  flood,  a  spot  not  of  earth,  but  in 
the  midst  of  waters,  which  rush  with  a  murmuring 
sound  among  the  massive  beams  beneath.  Over  the 
door  is  a  weather-beaten  board,  inscribed  with  the 
rates  of  toll,  in  letters  so  nearly  effaced  that  the  gild 
ing  of  the  sunshine  can  hardly  make  them  legible. 
Beneath  the  window  is  a  wooden  bench,  on  which  a 
long  succession  of  weary  wayfarers  have  reposed  them 
selves.  Peeping  within  doors,  we  perceive  the  white 
washed  walls  bedecked  with  sundry  lithographic  prints 
and  advertisements  of  various  import,  and  the  immense 
showbill  of  a  wandering  caravan.  And  there  sits  our 
good  old  toll-gatherer,  glorified  by  the  early  sunbeams. 
He  is  a  man,  as  his  aspect  may  announce,  of  quiet 
soul,  and  thoughtful,  shrewd,  yet  simple  mind,  who, 
of  the  wisdom  which  the  passing  world  scatters  along 
the  wayside,  has  gathered  a  reasonable  store. 

Now  the  sun  smiles  upon  the  landscape,  and  earth 
smiles  back  again  upon  the  sky.  Frequent,  now,  are 
the  travellers.  The  toll-gatherer's  practised  ear  can 
distinguish  the  weight  of  every  vehicle,  the  number 
of  its  wheels,  and  how  many  horses  beat  the  resound 
ing  timbers  with  their  iron  tramp.  Here,  in  a  sub 
stantial  family  chaise,  setting  forth  betimes  to  take 
advantage  of  the  dewy  road,  come  a  gentleman  and 
his  wife,  with  their  rosy-cheeked  little  girl  sitting  glad- 
somely  between  them.  The  bottom  of  the  chaise  is 
heaped  with  multifarious  band-boxes,  and  carpet-bags, 
and  beneath  the  axle  swings  a  leathern  trunk,  dtfety 
with  yesterday's  journey.  Next  appears  a  four-wheeled 


THE    TOLL-GATHERER'S  DAY.  237 

carryall,  peopled  with  a  round  half  dozen  of  pretty 
girls,  all  drawn  by  a  single  horse,  and  driven  by  a 
single  gentleman.  Luckless  wight,  doomed,  through 
a  whole  summer  day,  to  be  the  butt  of  mirth  and  mis 
chief  among  the  frolicsome  maidens !  Bolt  upright 
in  a  sulky  rides  a  thin,  sour-visaged  man,  who,  as  he 
pays  his  toll,  hands  the  toll-gatherer  a  printed  card 
to  stick  upon  the  wall.  The  vinegar-faced  traveller 
proves  to  be  a  manufacturer  of  pickles.  Now  paces 
slowly  from  timber  to  timber  a  horseman  clad  in 
black,  with  a  meditative  brow,  as  of  one  who,  whith 
ersoever  his  steed  might  bear  him,  would  still  journey 
through  a  mist  of  brooding  thought,  He  is  a  country 
preacher,  going  to  labor  at  a  protracted  meeting.  The 
next  object  passing  town  ward  is  a  butcher's  cart,  can 
opied  with  its  arch  of  snow-white  cotton.  Behind 
comes  a  "  sauceman,"  driving  a  wagon  full  of  new  po 
tatoes,  green  ears  of  corn,  beets,  carrots,  turnips,  and 
summer  squashes;  and  next,  two  wrinkled,  withered, 
witeh-looking  old  gossips,  in  an  antediluvian  chaise, 
drawn  by  a  horse  of  former  generations,  and  going  to 
peddle  out  a  lot  of  huckleberries.  See  there,  a  man 
trundling  a  wheelbarrow  load  of  lobsters.  And  now 
a  milk  cart  rattles  briskly  onward,  covered  with  green 
canvas,  and  conveying  the  contributions  of  a  whole 
herd  of  cows  in  large  tin  canisters.  But  let  all  these 
pay  their  toll  and  pass.  Here  comes  a  spectacle  that 
causes  the  old  toll-gatherer  to  smile  benignantly,  as  if 
the  travellers  brought  sunshine  with  them  and  lav 
ished  its  gladsome  influence  all  along  the  road. 

It  is  a  barouche  of  the  newest  style,  the  varnished 
panels  of  which  reflect  the  whole  moving  panorama 
of  the  landscape,  and  show  a  picture,  likewise,  of  our 
friend,  with  his  visage  broadened,  so  that  his  medita- 


238  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

tive  smile  is  transformed  to  grotesque  merriment. 
Within,  sits  a  youth,  fresh  as  the  summer  morn,  and 
beside  him  a  young  lady  in  white,  with  white  gloves 
upon  her  slender  hands,  and  a  white  veil  flowing  down 
over  her  face.  But  methinks  her  blushing  cheek  bums 
through  the  snowy  veil.  Another  white-robed  virgin 
sits  in  front.  And  who  are  these,  on  whom,  and  on 
all  that  appertains  to  them,  the  dust  of  earth  seems 
never  to  have  settled  ?  Two  lovers,  whom  the  priest 
has  blessed  this  blessed  morn,  and  sent  them  forth, 
with  one  of  the  bridemaids,  on  the  matrimonial  tour. 
Take  my  blessing  too,  ye  happy  ones !  May  the  sky 
not  frown  upon  you,  nor  clouds  bedew  you  with  their 
chill  and  sullen  rain!  May  the  hot  sun  kindle  no 
fever  in  your  hearts  !  May  your  whole  life's  pilgrim 
age  be  as  blissful  as  this  first  day's  journey,  and  its 
close  be  gladdened  with  even  brighter  anticipations 
than  those  which  hallow  your  bridal  night ! 

They  pass ;  and  ere  the  reflection  of  their  joy  has 
faded  from  his  face,  another  spectacle  throws  a  melan 
choly  shadow  over  the  spirit  of  the  observing  man.  In 
a  close  carriage  sits  a  fragile  figure,  muffled  carefully, 
and  shrinking  even  from  the  mild  breath  of  summer. 
She  leans  against  a  manly  form,  and  his  arm  enfolds 
her,  as  if  to  guard  his  treasure  from  some  enemy.  Let 
but  a  few  weeks  pass,  and  when  he  shall  strive  to  em 
brace  that  loved  one,  he  will  press  only  desolation  to 
his  heart. 

And  now  has  morning  gathered  up  her  dewy  pearls 
and  fled  away.  The  sun  rolls  blazing  through  the  sky, 
and  cannot  find  a  cloud  to  cool  his  face  with.  The 
horses  toil  sluggishly  along  the  bridge,  and  heave  their 
glistening  sides  in  short  quick  pantings,  when  the  reins 
are  tightened  at  the  toll-house.  Glisten,  too,  the  facea 


THE    TOLL-GATHERER'S  DAY.  239 

of  the  travellers.  Their  garments  are  thickly  bestre\vn 
with  dust ;  their  whiskers  and  hair  look  hoary ;  their 
throats  are  choked  with  the  dusty  atmosphere  which 
they  have  left  behind  them.  No  air  is  stirring  011  the 
road.  Nature  dares  draw  no  breath,  lest  she  should 
inhale  a  stifling  cloud  of  dust.  "A  hot  and  dusty 
day ! "  cry  the  poor  pilgrims,  as  they  wipe  their  be 
grimed  foreheads,  and  woo  the  doubtful  breeze  which 
the  river  bears  along  with  it.  "  Awful  hot !  Dreadful 
dusty  !  "  answers  the  sympathetic  toll-gatherer.  They 
start  again  to  pass  through  the  fiery  furnace,  while  he 
reenters  his  cool  hermitage,  and  besprinkles  it  with  a 
pail  of  briny  water  from  the  stream  beneath.  He 
thinks  within  himself  that  the  sun  is  not  so  fierce  here 
as  elsewhere,  and  that  the  gentle  air  does  not  forget 
him  in  these  sultry  days.  Yes,  old  friend  ;  and  a  quiet 
heart  will  make  a  dog-day  temperate.  He  hears  a 
weary  footstep,  and  perceives  a  traveller  with  pack  and 
staff,  who  sits  down  upon  the  hospitable  bench,  and  re 
moves  the  hat  from  his  wet  brow.  The  toll-gatherer 
administers  a  cup  of  cold  water,  and  discovering  his 
guest  to  be  a  man  of  homely  sense,  he  engages  him  in 
profitable  talk,  uttering  the  maxims  of  a  philosophy 
which  he  has  found  in  his  own  soul,  but  knows  not 
how  it  came  there.  And  as  the  wayfarer  makes  ready 
to  resume  his  journey,  he  tells  him  a  sovereign  remedy 
for  blistered  feet. 

Now  comes  the  noontide  hour  —  of  all  the  hours 
nearest  akin  to  midnight ;  for  each  has  its  own  calm 
ness  and  repose.  Soon,  however,  the  world  begins  to 
turn  again  upon  its  axis,  and  it  seems  the  busiest 
epoch  of  the  day ;  when  an  accident  impedes  the  march 
of  sublunary  things.  The  draw  being  lifted  to  permit 
the  passage  of  a  schooner,  laden  with  wood  from  the 


240  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

eastern  forests,  she  sticks  immovably,  right  athwart 
the  bridge !  Meanwhile,  on  both  sides  of  the  chasm, 
a  throng  of  impatient  travellers  fret  and  fume.  Here 
are  two  sailors  in  a  gig,  with  the  top  thrown  back,  both 
puffing  cigars,  and  swearing  all  sorts  of  forecastle 
oaths;  there,  in  a  smart  chaise,  a  dashingly  dressed 
gentleman  and  lady,  he  from  a  tailor's  shopboard  and 
she  from  a  milliner's  back  room  —  the  aristocrats  of 
a  summer  afternoon.  And  what  are  the  haughtiest  of 
us  but  the  ephemeral  aristocrats  of  a  summer's  day  ? 
Here  is  a  tin  pedlar,  whose  glittering  ware  bedazzles 
all  beholders,  like  a  travelling  meteor  or  opposition 
sun  ;  and  on  the  other  side  a  seller  of  spruce  beer, 
which  brisk  liquor  is  confined  in  several  dozen  of  stone 
bottles.  Here  comes  a  party  of  ladies  on  horseback, 
in  green  riding  habits,  and  gentlemen  attendant ;  and 
there  a  flock  of  sheep  for  the  market,  pattering  over 
the  bridge  with  a  multitudinous  clatter  of  their  little 
hoofs.  Here  a  Frenchman,  with  a  hand  organ  on  his 
shoulder ;  and  there  an  itinerant  Swiss  jeweller.  On 
this  side,  heralded  by  a  blast  of  clarions  and  bugles, 
appears  a  train  of  wagons,  conveying  all  the  wild  beasts 
of  a  caravan  ;  and  on  that,  a  company  of  summer  sol 
diers,  marching  from  village  to  village  on  a  festival 
campaign,  attended  by  the  "  Brass  band."  Now  look 
at  the  scene,  and  it  presents  an  emblem  of  the  myste 
rious  confusion,  the  apparently  insolvable  riddle,  in 
which  individuals,  or  the  great  world  itself,  seem  often 
to  be  involved.  What  miracle  shall  set  all  things 
right  again? 

But  see !  the  schooner  has  thrust  her  bulky  carcass 
through  the  chasm ;  the  draw  descends ;  horse  and 
foot  pass  onward,  and  leave  the  bridge  vacant  from 
end  to  end.  "  And  thus,"  muses  the  toll-gatherer, 


THE    TOLL-GATHERER'S   DAY.  241 

"  have  I  found  it  with  all  stoppages,  even  though  the 
universe  seemed  to  be  at  a  stand."  The  sage  old  man  ! 
Far  westward  now  the  reddening  sun  throws  a  broad 
sheet  of  splendor  across  the  flood,  and  to  the  eves  o£ 
distant  boatmen  gleams  brightly  among  the  timbers  of 
the  bridge.  Strollers  come  from  the  town  to  quaff  the 
freshening  breeze.  One  or  two  let  down  long  lines, 
and  haul  up  flapping  flounders,  or  cunners,  or  small 
cod,  or  perhaps  an  eel.  Others,  and  fair  girls  among 
them,  with  the  flush  of  the  hot  day  still  on  their 
cheeks,  bend  over  the  railing  and  watch  the  heaps  of 
seaweed  floating  upward  with  the  flowing  tide.  The 
horses  now  tramp  heavily  along  the  bridge,  and  wist 
fully  bethink  them  of  their  stables.  Rest,  rest,  thou 
weary  world !  for  to-morrow's  round  of  toil  and  pleas 
ure  will  be  as  wearisome  as  to-day's  has  been :  yet 
both  shall  bear  thee  onward  a  day's  march  of  eternity. 
Now  the  old  toll-gatherer  looks  seaward,  and  discerns 
the  light-house  kindling  on  a  far  island,  and  the  starst 
too,  kindling  in  the  sky,  as  if  but  a  little  way  beyond ; 
and  mingling  reveries  of  heaven  with  remembrances 
of  earth,  the  whole  procession  of  mortal  travellers,  all 
the  dusty  pilgrimage  which  he  has  witnessed,  seems 
like  a  flitting  show  of  phantoms  for  his  thoughtful  soul 
to  muse  upon. 

VOL.   I.  18 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN.  . 

AT  fifteen  I  became  a  resident  in  a  country  village, 
more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  home.  The  morning 
after  my  arrival — a  September  morning,  but  warm 
and  bright  as  any  in  July  —  I  rambled  into  a  wood  of 
oaks,  with  a  few  walnut-trees  intermixed,  forming  the 
closest  shade  above  my  head.  The  ground  was  rocky, 
uneven,  overgrown  with  bushes  and  clumps  of  young 
saplings,  and  traversed  only  by  cattle  paths.  The 
track  which  I  chanced  to  follow  led  me  to  a  crystal 
spring,  with  a  border  of  grass  as  freshly  green  as  on 
May  morning,  and  overshadowed  by  the  limb  of  a 
great  oak.  One  solitary  sunbeam  found  its  way  down, 
and  played  like  a  goldfish  in  the  water. 

From  my  childhood  I  have  loved  to  gaze  into  a 
spring.  The  water  filled  a  circular  basin,  small  but 
deep,  and  set  round  with  stones,  some  of  which  were 
covered  with  slimy  moss,  the  others  naked,  and  of 
variegated  hue,  reddish,  white,  and  brown.  The  bot 
tom  was  covered  with  coarse  sand,  which  sparkled 
in  the  lonely  sunbeam,  and  seemed  to  illuminate  the 
spring  with  an  unborrowed  light.  In  one  spot  the 
gush  of  the  water  violently  agitated  the  sand,  but  with 
out  obscuring  the  fountain,  or  breaking  the  glassiness 
of  its  surface.  It  appeared  as  if  some  living  creature 
were  about  to  emerge  —  the  Naiad  of  the  spring,  per 
haps  —  in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful  young  woman,  with 
a  gown  of  filmy  water  moss,  a  belt  of  rainbow  drops, 
and  a  cold,  pure,  passionless  countenance.  How  would 


THE    VISION   OF   THE   FOUNTAIN.        243 

the  beholder  shiver,  pleasantly  yet  fearfully,  to  see 
her  sitting  on  one  of  the  stones,  paddling  her  white 
feet  in  the  ripples,  and  throwing  up  water  to  sparkle 
in  the  sun !  Wherever  she  laid  her  hands  on  grass 
and  flowers,  they  would  immediately  be  moist  as  with 
morning  dew.  Then  would  she  set  about  her  labors, 
like  a  careful  housewife,  to  clear  the  fountain  of  with 
ered  leaves,  and  bits  of  slimy  wood,  and  old  acorns 
from  the  oaks  above,  and  grains  of  corn  left  by  cattle 
in  drinking,  till  the  bright  sand,  in  the  bright  water, 
wras  like  a  treasury  of  diamonds.  But,  should  the  in 
truder  approach  too  near,  he  would  find  only  the  drops 
of  a  summer  shower  glistening  about  the  spot  where  he 
had  seen  her. 

Reclining  on  the  border  of  grass,  where  the  dewy 
goddess  should  have  been,  I  bent  forward,  and  a  pail 
of  eyes  met  mine  within  the  wratery  mirror.  The} 
were  the  reflection  of  my  OWTI.  I  looked  again,  and 
lo !  another  face,  deeper  in  the  fountain  than  my  own 
image,  more  distinct  in  all  the  features,  yet  faint  as 
thought.  The  vision  had  the  aspect  of  a  fair  young 
girl,  with  locks  of  paly  gold.  A  mirthful  expression 
laughed  in  the  eyes  and  dimpled  over  the  whole  shad 
owy  countenance,  till  it  seemed  just  what  a  fountain 
would  be,  if,  while  dancing  merrily  into  the  sunshine, 
it  should  assume  the  shape  of  woman.  Through  the 
dim  rosiness  of  the  cheeks  I  could  see  the  brown 
leaves,  the  slimy  twigs,  the  acorns,  and  the  sparkling 
sand.  The  solitary  sunbeam  was  diffused  among  the 
golden  hair,  which  melted  into  its  faint  brightness, 
and  became  a  glory  round  that  head  so  beautiful-- 

My  description  can  give  no  idea  how  suddenly  the 
fountain  was  thus  tenanted,  and  how  soon  it  was  left 
desolate.  I  breathed,  and  there  was  the  face  !  I  held 


244  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

my  breath,  and  it  was  gone !  Had  it  passed  away, 
or  faded  into  nothing?  I  doubted  whether  it  had  ever 
been. 

My  sweet  readers,  what  a  dreamy  and  delicious 
hour  did  I  spend,  where  that  vision  found  and  left 
me !  For  a  long  time  I  sat  perfectly  still,  waiting 
till  it  should  reappear,  and  fearful  that  the  slightest 
motion,  or  even  the  flutter  of  my  breath,  might 
frighten  it  away.  Thus  have  I  often  started  from  a 
pleasant  dream,  and  then  kept  quiet  in  hopes  to  while 
it  back.  Deep  were  my  musings,  as  to  the  race  and 
attributes  of  that  ethereal  being.  Had  I  created  her  ? 
Was  she  the  daughter  of  my  fancy,  akin  to  those 
strange  shapes  which  peep  under  the  lids  of  children's 
eyes?  And  did  her  beauty  gladden  me,  for  that 
one  moment,  and  then  die  ?  Or  was  she  a  water 
nymph  within  the  fountain,  or  fairy,  or  woodland 
goddess,  peeping  over  my  shoulder,  or  the  ghost 
of  some  forsaken  maid  who  had  drowned  herself 
for  love  ?  Or,  in  good  truth,  had  a  lovely  girl,  with 
a  warm  heart  and  lips  that  would  bear  pressure,  sto 
len  softly  behind  me,  and  thrown  her  image  into  the 
spring  ? 

I  watched  and  waited,  but  no  vision  came  again. 
I  departed,  but  with  a  spell  upon  me  which  drew  me 
back,  that  same  afternoon,  to  the  haunted  spring. 
There  was  the  water  gushing,  the  sand  sparkling, 
and  the  sunbeam  glimmering.  There  the  vision  was 
not,  but  only  a  great  frog,  the  hermit  of  that  solitude, 
who  immediately  withdrew  his  speckled  snout  and 
made  himself  invisible,  all  except  a  pair  of  long 
legs,  beneath  a  stone.  Methought  he  had  a  devilish 
look  !  I  could  have  slain  him  as  an  enchanter 
who  kept  the  mysterious  beauty  imprisoned  in  the 
fountain. 


THE    VISION  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN.        245 

Sad  and  heavy,  I  was  returning  to  the  village. 
Between  me  and  the  church  spire  rose  a  little  hill, 
and  on  its  summit  a  group  of  trees,  insulated  from  all 
the  rest  of  the  wood,  with  their  own  share  of  radiance 
hovering  on  them  from  the  west,  and  their  own  solitary 
shadow  falling  to  the  east.  The  afternoon  being  far 
declined,  the  sunshine  was  almost  pensive,  and  the 
shade  almost  cheerful ;  glory  and  gloom  were  mingled 
in  the  placid  light ;  as  if  the  spirits  of  the  Day  and 
Evening  had  met  in  friendship  under  those  trees,  and 
found  themselves  akin.  I  was  admiring  the  picture, 
when  the  shape  of  a  young  girl  emerged  from  behind 
the  clump  of  oaks.  My  heart  knew  her  ;  it  was  the 
Vision  ;  but  so  distant  and  ethereal  did  she  seem,  so 
unmixed  with  earth,  so  imbued  with  the  pensive  glory 
of  the  spot  where  she  was  standing,  that  my  spirit 
sunk  within  me,  sadder  than  before.  How  could  I 
ever  reach  her  ? 

While  I  gazed,  a  sudden  shower  came  pattering 
down  upon  the  leaves.  In  a  moment  the  air  was  full 
of  brightness,  each  raindrop  catching  a  portion  of 
sunlight  as  it  fell,  and  the  whole  gentle  shower  ap 
pearing  like  a  mist,  just  substantial  enough  to  bear  the 
burden  of  radiance.  A  rainbow,  vivid  as  Niagara's, 
was  painted  in  the  air.  Its  southern  limb  came  down 
before  the  group  of  trees,  and  enveloped  th*  fair 
Vision,  as  if  the  hues  of  heaven  were  the  only  gar 
ment  for  her  beauts'.  When  the  rainbow  vanished, 
she,  who  had  seemed  a  part  of  it,  was  no  longer 
there.  Was  her  existence  absorbed  in  nature's  love 
liest  phenomenon,  and  did  her  pure  frame  dissolve 
away  in  the  varied  light  ?  Yet,  I  would  not  despair 
of  her  return  ;  for,  robed  in  the  rainbow,  she  was  the 
emblem  of  Hope. 


246  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Thus  did  the  vision  leave  me  ;  and  many  a  doleful 
day  succeeded  to  the  parting  moment.  By  the  spring, 
and  in  the  wood,  and  on  the  hill,  and  through  the  vil 
lage  ;  at  dewy  sunrise,  burning  noon,  and  at  that 
magic  hour  of  sunset  when  she  had  vanished  from  my 
sight,  I  sought  her,  but  in  vain.  Weeks  came  and 
went,  months  rolled  away,  and  she  appeared  not  in 
them.  I  imparted  my  mystery  to  none,  but  wandered 
to  and  fro,  or  sat  in  solitude,  like  one  that  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  heaven,  and  could  take  no  more  joy  on 
earth.  I  withdrew  into  an  inner  world,  where  my 
thoughts  lived  and  breathed,  and  the  Vision  in  the 
midst  of  them.  Without  intending  it,  I  became  at 
once  the  author  and  hero  of  a  romance,  conjuring  up 
rivals,  imagining  events,  the  actions  of  others  and  my 
own,  and  experiencing  every  change  of  passion,  till 
jealousy  and  despair  had  their  end  in  bliss.  Oh,  had 
I  the  burning  fancy  of  my  early  youth,  with  man 
hood's  colder  gift,  the  power  of  expression,  your 
hearts,  sweet  ladies,  should  flutter  at  my  tale ! 

In  the  middle  of  January  I  was  summoned  home. 
The  day  before  my  departure,  visiting  the  spots  which 
had  been  hallowed  by  the  Vision,  I  found  that  the 
spring  had  a  frozen  bosom,  and  nothing  but  the  snow 
and  a  glare  of  winter  sunshine  on  the  hill  of  the  rain 
bow.  •  "  Let  me  hope,"  thought  I,  "  or  my  heart  will  be 
as  icy  as  the  fountain,  and  the  whole  world  as  desolate 
as  this  snowy  hill."  Most  of  the  day  was  spent  in 
preparing  for  the  journey,  which  was  to  commence  at 
four  o'clock  the  next  morning.  About  an  hour  after 
supper,  when  all  was  in  readiness,  I  descended  from 
my  chamber  to  the  sitting-room,  to  take  leave  of  the 
old  clergyman  and  his  family  with  whom  I  had  been 
an  inmate.  A  gust  of  wind  blew  out  my  lamp  as  ] 
passed  through  the  entry. 


THE    VISION   OF   THE  FOUNTAIN.          247 

According  to  their  invariable  custom,  so  pleasant  a 
one  when  the  fire  blazes  cheerfully,  the  family  were 
sitting  in  the  parlor,  with  no  other  light  than  what 
came  from  the  hearth.  As  the  good  clergyman's 
scanty  stipend  compelled  him  to  use  all  sorts  of  econ 
omy,  the  foundation  of  his  fires  was  always  a  large 
heap  of  tan,  or  ground  bark,  which  would  smoulder 
away,  from  morning  till  night,  with  a  dull  warmth 
and  no  flame.  This  evening  the  heap  of  tan  was 
newly  put  on,  and  surmounted  with  three  sticks  of  red 
oak,  full  of  moisture,  and  a  few  pieces  of  dry  pine, 
that  had  not  yet  kindled.  There  was  no  light,  except 
the  little  that  came  sullenly  from  two  half -burned 
brands,  without  even  glimmering  on  the  andirons. 
But  I  knew  the  position  of  the  old  minister's  arm 
chair,  and  also  where  his  wife  sat,  with  her  knitting- 
work,  and  how  to  avoid  his  two  daughters,  one  a  stout 
country  lass,  and  the  other  a  consumptive  girl.  Grop 
ing  through  the  gloom,  I  found  my  own  place  next  to 
that  of  the  son,  a  learned  collegian,  who  had  come 
home  to  keep  school  in  the  village  during  the  winter 
vacation.  I  noticed  that  there  was  less  room  than 
usual,  to-night,  between  the  collegian's  chair  and 
mine. 

As  people  are  always  taciturn  in  the  dark,  not  a 
word  was  said  for  some  time  after  my  entrance.  Noth 
ing  broke  the  stillness  but  the  regular  click  of  the 
matron's  knitting-needles.  At  times,  the  fire  threw 
out  a  brief  and  dusky  gleam,  which  twinkled  on  the 
old  man's  glasses,  and  hovered  doubtfully  round  our 
circle,  but  was  far  too  faint  to  portray  the  individuals 
who  composed  it.  Were  we  not  like  ghosts  ?  Dreamy 
as  the  scene  was,  might  it  not  be  a  type  of  the  mode 
in  which  departed  people,  who  had  known  and  loved 


248  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

each  other  here,  would  hold  communion  in  eternity? 
We  were  aware  of  each  other's  presence,  not  by  sight, 
nor  sound,  nor  touch,  but  by  an  inward  consciousness. 
Would  it  not  be  so  among  the  dead  ? 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  the  consumptive 
daughter,  addressing  a  remark  to  some  one  in  the 
circle  whom  she  called  Rachel.  Her  tremulous  and 
decayed  accents  were  answered  by  a  single  word,  but 
in  a  voice  that  made  me  start,  and  bend  towards  the 
spot  whence  it  had  proceeded.  Had  I  ever  heard  that 
sweet,  low  tone  ?  If  not,  why  did  it  rouse  up  so  many 
old  recollections,  or  mockeries  of  such,  the  shadows  of 
things  familiar,  yet  unknown,  and  fill  my  mind  with 
confused  images  of  her  features  who  had  spoken, 
though  buried  in  the  gloom  of  the  parlor?  Whom 
had  my  heart  recognized,  that  it  throbbed  so  ?  I 
listened  to  catch  her  gentle  breathing,  and  strove,  by 
the  intensity  of  my  gaze,  to  picture  forth  a  shape 
where  none  was  visible. 

Suddenly  the  dry  pine  caught ;  the  fire  blazed  up 
with  a  ruddy  glow ;  and  where  the  darkness  had  been, 
there  was  she  —  the  Vision  of  the  Fountain  !  A  spirit 
of  radiance  only,  she  had  vanished  with  the  rainbow, 
and  appeared  again  in  the  firelight,  perhaps  to  flicker 
with  the  blaze,  and  be  gone.  Yet,  her  cheek  was  rosy 
and  life-like,  and  her  features,  in  the  bright  warmth  of 
the  room,  were  even  sweeter  and  tenderer  than  my 
recollection  of  them.  She  knew  me !  The  mirthful 
expression  that  had  laughed  in  her  eyes  and  dimpled 
over  her  countenance,  when  I  beheld  her  faint  beauty 
in  the  fountain,  was  laughing  and  dimpling  there  now. 
One  moment  our  glance  mingled  —  the  next,  down 
rolled  the  heap  of  tan  upon  the  kindled  wood  —  and 
darkness  snatched  away  the  Daughter  of  the 
and  gave  her  back  to  me  no  more  ! 


THE   VISION  OF   THE   FOUNTAIN.        249 

Fair  ladies,  there  is  nothing  more  to  tell.  Must 
fche  simple  mystery  be  revealed,  then,  that  Rachel  was 
the  daughter  of  the  village  squire,  and  had  left  home 
for  a  boarding-school,  the  morning  after  I  arrived 
and  returned  the  day  before  my  departure  ?  If  I 
transformed  her  to  an  angel,  it  is  what  every  youth 
ful  lover  does  for  his  mistress.  Therein  consists  the 
essence  of  my  story.  But  slight  the  change,  sweet 
maids,  to  make  angels  of  yourselves ! 


FANCY'S   SHOW   BOX. 

A   MORALITY. 

WHAT  is  Guilt?  A  stain  upon  the  soul.  And  it 
is  a  point  of  vast  interest  whether  the  soul  may  con 
tract  such  stains,  in  all  their  depth  and  flagrancy, 
from  deeds  which  may  have  been  plotted  and  resolved 
upon,  but  which,  physically,  have  never  had  existence. 
Must  the  fleshly  hand  and  visible  frame  of  man  set 
its  seal  to  the  evil  designs  of  the  soul,  in  order  to  give 
them  their  entire  validity  against  the  sinner?  Or, 
while  none  but  crimes  perpetrated  are  cognizable  be 
fore  an  earthly  tribunal,  will  guilty  thoughts  —  of 
which  guilty  deeds  are  no  more  than  shadows  —  will 
these  draw  down  the  full  weight  of  a  condemning 
sentence,  in  the  supreme  court  of  eternity?  In  the 
solitude  of  a  midnight  chamber  or  in  a  desert,  afar 
from  men  or  in  a  church,  while  the  body  is  kneeling, 
the  soul  may  pollute  itself  even  with  those  crimes 
which  we  are  accustomed  to  deem  altogether  carnal. 
If  this  be  true,  it  is  a  fearful  truth. 

Let  us  illustrate  the  subject  by  an  imaginary  exam 
ple.  A  venerable  gentleman,  one  Mr.  Smith,  who  had 
long  been  regarded  as  a  pattern  of  moral  excellence, 
was  warming  his  aged  blood  with  a  glass  or  two  of 
generous  wine.  His  children  being  gone  forth  about 
their  worldly  business,  and  his  grandchildren  at  school, 
he  sat  alone,  in  a  deep,  luxurious  arm-chair,  with  his 
Ceet  beneath  a  richly-carved  mahogany  table.  Some 


FANCY'S   SHOW  BOX.  251 

old  people  have  a  dread  of  solitude,  and  when  better 
company  may  not  be  had,  rejoice  even  to  hear  the 
quiet  breathing  of  a  babe,  asleep  upon  the  carpet. 
But  Mr.  Smith,  whose  silver  hair  was  the  bright  sym 
bol  of  a  life  unstained,  except  by  such  spots  as  are 
inseparable  from  human  nature,  had  no  need  of  a 
babe  to  protect  him  by  its  purity,  nor  of  a  grown  per 
son  to  stand  between  him  and  his  own  soul.  Never 
theless,  either  Manhood  must  converse  with  Age,  or 
Womanhood  must  soothe  him  with  gentle  cares,  or 
Infancy  must  sport  around  his  chair,  or  his  thoughts 
will  stray  into  the  misty  region  of  the  past,  and  the 
old  man  be  chill  and  sad.  Wine  will  not  always  cheer 
him.  Such  might  have  been  the  case  with  Mr.  Smith, 
when,  through  the  brilliant  medium  of  his  glass  of  old 
Madeira,  he  beheld  three  figures  entering  the  room. 
These  were  Fancy,  who  had  assumed  the  garb  and  as 
pect  of  an  itinerant  showman,  with  a  box  of  pictures 
on  her  back  ;  and  Memory,  in  the  likeness  of  a  clerk, 
with  a  pen  behind  her  ear,  an  inkhorn  at  her  button 
hole,  and  a  huge  manuscript  volume  beneath  her  arm  ; 
and  lastly,  behind  the  other  two,  a  person  shrouded  in 
a  dusky  mantle,  which  concealed  both  face  and  form. 
But  Mr.  Smith  had  a  shrewd  idea  that  it  was  Con 
science. 

How  kind  of  Fancy,  Memory,  and  Conscience  to 
visit  the  old  gentleman,  just  as  he  was  beginning  to 
imagine  that  the  wine  had  neither  so  bright  a  sparkle 
nor  so  excellent  a  flavor  as  when  himself  and  the 
liquor  were  less  aged  !  Through  the  dim  length  of  the 
apartment,  where  crimson  curtains  muffled  the  glare 
of  sunshine  and  created  a  rich  obscurity,  the  three 
guests  drew  near  the  silver-haired  old  man.  Memory, 
with  a  finger  between  the  leaves  of  her  huge  volume, 


252  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

placed  herself  at  his  right  hand.  Conscience,  with  her 
face  still  hidden  in  the  dusky  mantle,  took  her  station 
on  the  left,  so  as  to  be  next  his  heart ;  while  Fancy  set 
down  her  picture  box  upon  the  table,  with  the  magni 
fying  glass  convenient  to  his  eye.  We  can  sketch 
merely  the  outlines  of  two  or  three  out  of  the  many 
pictures  which,  at  the  pulling  of  a  string,  successively 
peopled  the  box  with  the  semblances  of  living  scenes. 
One  was  a  moonlight  picture :  in  the  background, 
a  lowly  dwelling ;  and  in  front,  partly  shadowed  by  a 
tree,  yet  besprinkled  with  flakes  of  radiance,  two  youth 
ful  figures,  male  and  female.  The  young  man  stood 
with  folded  arms,  a  haughty  smile  upon  his  lip,  and  a 
gleam  of  triumph  in  his  eye,  as  he  glanced  downward 
at  the  kneeling  girl.  She  was  almost  prostrate  at  his 
feet,  evidently  sinking  under  a  weight  of  shame  and 
anguish,  which  hardly  allowed  her  to  lift  her  clasped 
hands  in  supplication.  Her  eyes  she  could  not  lift. 
But  neither  her  agony,  nor  the  lovely  features  on  which 
it  was  depicted,  nor  the  slender  grace  of  the  form 
which  it  convulsed,  appeared  to  soften  the  obduracy  of 
the  young  man.  He  was  the  personification  of  trium 
phant  scorn.  Now,  strange  to  say,  as  old  Mr.  Smith 
peeped  through  the  magnifying  glass,  which  made  the 
objects  start  out  from  the  canvas  with  magical  decep 
tion,  he  began  to  recognize  the  farm-house,  the  tree, 
and  both  the  figures  of  the  picture.  The  young  man, 
in  times  long  past,  had  often  met  his  gaze  within  the 
looking-glass ;  the  girl  was  the  very  image  of  his  first 
love  —  his  cottage  love  — his  Martha  Burroughs !  Mr. 
Smith  was  scandalized.  "  O  vile  and  slanderous  pict 
ure  !  "  he  exclaims.  u  When  have  I  triumphed  over 
ruined  innocence  ?  Was  not  Martha  wedded,  in  her 
teens,  to  David  Tomkins,  who  won  her  girlish  love, 


FANCY'S  SHOW  BOX.  253 

and  long  enjoyed  her  affection  as  a  wife  ?  And  ever 
since  his  death  she  has  lived  a  reputable  widow ! " 
Meantime,  Memory  was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her 
volume,  rustling  them  to  and  fro  with  uncertain  fingers, 
until,  among  the  earlier  pages,  she  found  one  which 
had  reference  to  this  picture.  She  reads  it,  close  to 
the  old  gentleman's  ear ;  it  is  a  record  merely  of  sin 
ful  thought,  which  never  was  embodied  in  an  act ;  but 
while  Memory  is  reading,  Conscience  unveils  her  face, 
and  strikes  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of  Mr.  Smith. 
Though  not  a  death-blow,  the  torture  was  extreme. 

The  exhibition  proceeded.  One  after  another, 
Fancy  displayed  her  pictures,  all  of  which  appeared 
to  have  been  painted  by  some  malicious  artist  on  pur 
pose  to  vex  Mr.  Smith.  Not  a  shadow  of  proof  could 
have  been  adduced,  in  any  earthly  court,  that  he  was 
guilty  of  the  slightest  of  those  sins  which  were  thus 
made  to  stare  him  in  the  face.  In  one  scene  there 
was  a  table  set  out,  with  several  bottles,  and  glasses 
half  filled  with  wine,  which  threw  back  the  dull  ray  of 
an  expiring  lamp.  There  had  been  mirth  and  rev 
elry,  until  the  hand  of  the  clock  stood  just  at  mid 
night,  when  murder  stepped  between  the  boon  com 
panions.  A  young  man  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and 
lay  stone  dead,  with  a  ghastly  wound  crushed  into  his 
temple,  while  over  him,  with  a  delirium  of  mingled 
rage  and  horror  in  his  countenance,  stood  the  youth 
ful  likeness  of  Mr.  Smith.  The  murdered  youth  wore 
the  features  of  Edward  Spencer !  "  What  does  this 
rascal  of  a  painter  mean?"  cries  Mr.  Smith,  pro 
voked  beyond  all  patience.  "Edward  Spencer  was 
my  earliest  and  dearest  friend,  true  to  me  as  I  to  him, 
through  more  than  half  a  century.  Neither  I,  nor  any 
other,  ever  murdered  him.  Was  he  not  alive  within 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

five  years,  and  did  he  not,  in  token  of  our  long  friend, 
ship,  bequeath  me  his  gold-headed  cane  and  a  mourn 
ing  ring?"  Again  had  Memory  been  turning  over 
her  volume,  and  fixed  at  length  upon  so  confused  a 
page  that  she  surely  must  have  scribbled  it  when  she 
was  tipsy.  The  purport  was,  however,  that  while  Mr. 
Smith  and  Edward  Spencer  were  heating  their  young 
blood  with  wine,  a  quarrel  had  flashed  up  between 
them,  and  Mr.  Smith,  in  deadly  wrath,  had  flung  a 
bottle  at  Spencer's  head.  True,  it  missed  its  aim, 
and  merely  smashed  a  looking-glass ;  and  the  next 
morning,  when  the  incident  was  imperfectly  remem 
bered,  they  had  shaken  hands  with  a  hearty  laugh. 
Yet,  again,  while  Memory  was  reading,  Conscience 
unveiled  her  face,  struck  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of  Mr. 
Smith,  and  quelled  his  remonstrance  with  her  iron 
frown.  The  pain  was  quite  excruciating. 

Some  of  the  pictures  had  been  painted  with  so 
doubtful  a  touch,  and  in  colors  so  faint  and  pale,  that 
the  subjects  could  barely  be  conjectured.  A  dull, 
semi-transparent  mist  had  been  thrown  over  the  sur 
face  of  the  canvas,  into  which  the  figures  seemed  to 
vanish,  while  the  eye  sought  most  earnestly  to  fix 
them.  But  in  every  scene,  however  dubiously  por 
trayed,  Mr.  Smith  was  invariably  haunted  by  his  own 
lineaments,  at  various  ages,  as  in  a  dusty  mirror.  Af 
ter  poring  several  minutes  over  one  of  these  blurred 
and  almost  indistinguishable  pictures,  he  began  to  see 
that  the  painter  had  intended  to  represent  him,  now 
in  the  decline  of  life,  as  stripping  the  clothes  from  the 
backs  of  three  half-starved  children.  "  Really,  this 
puzzles  me !  "  quoth  Mr.  Smith,  with  the  irony  of 
conscious  rectitude.  "  Asking  pardon  of  the  painter, 
I  pronounce  him  a  fool,  as  well  as  a  scandalous  knava 


FANCY'S  SHOW  BOX.  255 

A.  man  of  my  standing  in  the  world  to  be  robbing 
little  children  of  their  clothes !  Ridiculous !  "  But 
while  he  spoke,  Memory  had  searched  her  fatal  vol 
ume,  and  found  a  page,  which,  with  her  sad,  calm 
voice,  she  poured  into  his  ear.  It  was  not  altogether 
inapplicable  to  the  misty  scene.  It  told  how  Mr. 
Smith  had  been  grievously  tempted  by  many  devilish 
sophistries,  on  the  ground  of  a  legal  quibble,  to  com 
mence  a  lawsuit  against  three  orphan  children,  joint 
heirs  to  a  considerable  estate.  Fortunately,  before  he 
was  quite  decided,  his  claims  had  turned  out  nearly 
as  devoid  of  law  as  justice.  As  Memory  ceased  to 
read,  Conscience  again  thrust  aside  her  mantle,  and 
woidd  have  struck  her  victim  with  the  envenomed 
dagger,  only  that  he  struggled  and  clasped  his  hands 
before  his  heart.  Even  then,  however,  he  sustained 
an  ugly  gash. 

Why  shoidd  we  follow  Fancy  through  the  whole 
series  of  those  awful  pictures  ?  Painted  by  an  artist 
of  wondrous  power,  and  terrible  acquaintance  with 
the  secret  soul,  they  embodied  the  ghosts  of  all  the 
never  perpetrated  sins  that  had  glided  through  the 
lifetime  of  Mr.  Smith.  And  could  such  beings  of 
cloudy  fantasy,  so  near  akin  to  nothingness,  give  valid 
evidence  against  him  at  the  day  of  judgment  ?  Be 
that  the  case  or  not,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that 
one  truly  penitential  tear  would  have  washed  away 
each  hateful  picture,  and  left  the  canvas  white  as 
snow.  But  Mr.  Smith,  at  a  prick  of  Conscience  too 
keen  to  be  endured,  bellowed  aloud,  with  impatient 
agony,  and  suddenly  discovered  that  his  three  guests 
were  gone.  There  he  sat  alone,  a  silver-haired  and' 
highly-venerated  old  man,  in  the  rich  gloom  of  the 
crimson-curtained  room,  with  no  box  of  pictures  on 


256  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  table,  but  only  a  decanter  of  most  excellent  Ma 
deira.  Yet  his  heart  still  seemed  to  fester  with  the 
venom  of  the  dagger. 

Nevertheless,  the  unfortunate  old  gentleman  might 
have  argued  the  matter  with  Conscience,  and  alleged 
many  reasons  wherefore  she  should  not  smite  him  so 
pitilessly.  Were  we  to  take  up  his  cause,  it  should 
be  somewhat  in  the  following  fashion :  A  scheme  of 
guilt,  till  it  be  put  in  execution,  greatly  resembles  a 
train  of  incidents  in  a  projected  tale.  The  latter,  in 
order  to  produce  a  sense  of  reality  in  the  reader's 
mind,  must  be  conceived  with  such  proportionate 
strength  by  the  author  as  to  seem,  in  the  glow  of 
fancy,  more  like  truth,  past,  present,  or  to  come,  than 
purely  fiction.  The  prospective  sinner,  on  the  other 
hand,  weaves  his  plot  of  crime,  but  seldom  or  never 
feels  a  perfect  certainty  that  it  will  be  executed. 
There  is  a  dreaminess  diffused  about  his  thoughts , 
in  a  dream,  as  it  were,  he  strikes  the  death-blow 
into  his  victim's  heart,  and  starts  to  find  an  indelible 
blood-stain  on  his  hand.  Thus  a  novel  writer  or  a 
dramatist,  in  creating  a  villain  of  romance  and  fitting 
him  with  evil  deeds,  and  the  villain  of  actual  life,  in 
projecting  crimes  that  will  be  perpetrated,  may  almost 
meet  each  other  half-way  between  reality  and  fancy. 
It  is  not  until  the  crime  is  accomplished  that  guilt 
clinches  its  gripe  upon  the  guilty  heart,  and  claims  it 
for  its  own.  Then,  and  not  before,  sin  is  actually  felt 
and  acknowledged,  and,  if  unaccompanied  by  repent 
ance,  grows  a  thousand-fold  more  virulent  by  its  self- 
consciousness.  Be  it  considered,  also,  that  men  often 
over-estimate  their  capacity  for  evil.  At  a  distance, 
while  its  attendant  circumstances  do  not  press  tfpon 
their  notice,  and  its  results  are  dimly  seen,  they  cau 


FANCY'S  SHOW  BOX.  257 

bear  to  contemplate  it.  They  may  take  the  steps 
which  lead  to  crime,  impelled  by  the  same  sort  of 
mental  action  as  in  working  out  a  mathematical  prob 
lem,  yet  be  powerless  with  compunction  at  the  final 
moment.  They  knew  not  what  deed  it  was  that  they 
deemed  themselves  resolved  to  do.  In  truth,  there  is 
no  such  thing;  in  man's  nature  as  a  settled  and  full 

O 

resolve,  either  for  good  or  evil,  except  at  the  very  mo 
ment  of  execution.  Let  us  hope,  therefore,  that  all 
the  dreadful  consequences  of  sin  will  not  be  incurredf 
unless  the  act  have  set  its  seal  upon  the  thought. 

Yet,  with  the  slight  fancy  work  which  we  have 
framed,  some  sad  and  awful  truths  are  interwoven. 
Man  must  not  disclaim  his  brotherhood,  even  with  the 
guiltiest,  since,  though  his  hand  be  clean,  his  heart 
has  surely  been  polluted  by  the  flitting  phantoms  of 
iniquity.  He  must  feel  that,  when  he  shall  knock  at 
the  gate  of  heaven,  no  semblance  of  an  unspotted  life 
can  entitle  him  to  entrance  there.  Penitence  must 
kneel,  and  Mercy  come  from  the  footstool  of  the 
throne,  or  that  golden  gate  will  never  open  ! 

VOL.   I.  17 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S   EXPERIMENT. 

THAT  very  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  once 
invited  four  venerable  friends  to  meet  him  in  his 
study.  There  were  three  white-bearded  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gas- 
eoigne,  and  a  withered  gentlewoman,  whose  name  was 
the  Widow  Wycherly.  They  were  all  melancholy  old 
creatures,  who  had  been  unfortunate  in  life,  and  whose 
greatest  misfortune  it  was  that  they  were  not  long 
ago  in  their  graves.  Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the  vigor  of 
his  age,  had  been  a  prosperous  merchant,  but  had  lost 
his  all  by  a  frantic  speculation,  and  was  now  little  bet 
ter  than  a  mendicant.  Colonel  Killigrew  had  wasted 
his  best  years,  and  his  health  and  substance,  in  the 
pursuit  of  sinful  pleasures,  which  had  given  birth  to 
a  brood  of  pains,  such  as  the  gout,  and  divers  other 
torments  of  soul  and  body.  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a 
ruined  politician,  a  man  of  evil  fame,  or  at  least  had 
been  so  till  time  had  buried  him  from  the  knowledge 
of  the  present  generation,  and  made  him  obscure  in 
stead  of  infamous.  As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly, 
tradition  tells  us  that  she  was  a  great  beauty  in  her 
day  ;  but,  for  a  long  while  past,  she  had  lived  in  deep 
seclusion,  on  account  of  certain  scandalous  stories 
which  had  prejudiced  the  gentry  of  the  town  against 
her.  It  is  a  circumstance  worth  mentioning  that  each 
of  these  three  old  gentlemen,  Mr.  Medbourne,  Colo 
nel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne,  were  early  lovers 
of  the  Widow  Wycherly,  and  had  once  been  on  the 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.        259 

point  of  cutting  each  other's  throats  for  her  sake.  And, 
before  proceeding  further,  I  will  merely  hint  that  Dr. 
Heidegger  and  all  his  four  guests  were  sometimes 
thought  to  be  a  little  beside  themselves,  —  as  is  not 
unfrequently  the  case  with  old  people,  when  worried 
either  by  present  troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  motion 
ing  them  to  be  seated,  "  I  am  desirous  of  your  assist 
ance  in  one  of  those  little  experiments  with  which  I 
amuse  myself  here  in  my  study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's  study  must 
have  been  a  very  curious  place.  It  was  a  dim,  old- 
fashioned  chamber,  festooned  with  cobwebs,  and  be 
sprinkled  with  antique  dust.  Around  the  walls  stood 
several  oaken  bookcases,  the  lower  shelves  of  which 
were  filled  with  rows  of  gigantic  folios  and  black- 
letter  quartos,  and  the  upper  with  little  parchment- 
covered  duodecimos.  Over  the  central  bookcase  was 
a  bronze  bust  of  Hippocrates,  with  which,  according 
to  some  authorities,  Dr.  Heidegger  was  accustomed  to 
hold  consultations  in  all  difficult  cases  of  his  practice. 
In  the  obscurest  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  tall  and 
narrow  oaken  closet,  with  its  door  ajar,  within  which 
doubtfully  appeared  a  skeleton.  Between  two  of  the 
bookcases  hung  a  looking-glass,  presenting  its  high 
and  dusty  plate  within  a  tarnished  gilt  frame.  Among 
many  wonderful  stories  related  of  this  mirror,  it  was 
fabled  that  the  spirits  of  all  the  doctor's  deceased 
padents  dwelt  within  its  verge,  and  would  stare  him 
in  the  face  whenever  he  looked  thitherward.  The  op 
posite  side  of  the  chamber  was  ornamented  with  the 
full-length  portrait  of  a  young  lady,  arrayed  in  the 
faded  magnificence  of  silk,  satin,  and  brocade,  and 
with  a  visage  as  faded  as  her  dress.  Above  half  a 


260  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

century  ago,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  on  the  point  of 
marriage  with  this  young  lady  ;  but,  being  affected 
with  some  slight  disorder,  she  had  swallowed  one  of 
her  lover's  prescriptions,  and  died  on  the  bridal  even 
ing.  The  greatest  curiosity  of  the  study  remains  to 
be  mentioned  ;  it  was  a  ponderous  folio  volume,  bound 
in  black  leather,  with  massive  silver  clasps.  There 
were  no  letters  on  the  back,  and  nobody  could  tell  the 
title  of  the  book.  But  it  was  well  known  to  be  a  book 
of  magic ;  and  once,  when  a  chambermaid  had  lifted 
it,  merely  to  brush  away  the  dust,  the  skeleton  had 
rattled  in  its  closet,  the  picture  of  the  young  lady  had 
stepped  one  foot  upon  the  floor,  and  several  ghastly 
faces  had  peeped  forth  from  the  mirror ;  while  the 
brazen  head  of  Hippocrates  frowned,  and  said,  —  "  For 
bear  !  " 

Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the  summer 
afternoon  of  our  tale  a  small  round  table,  as  black  as 
ebony,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  sustaining  a 
cut-glass  vase  of  beautiful  form  and  elaborate  work 
manship.  The  sunshine  came  through  the  window, 
between  the  heavy  festoons  of  two  faded  damask  cur 
tains,  and  fell  directly  across  this  vase ;  so  that  a  mild 
splendor  was  reflected  from  it  on  the  ashen  visages  of 
the  five  old  people  who  sat  around.  Four  champagne 
glasses  were  also  on  the  table. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr.  Heidegger, 
"  may  I  reckon  on  your  aid  in  performing  an  exceed 
ingly  curious  experiment  ?  " 

Now  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange  old  gentle 
man,  whose  eccentricity  had  become  the  nucleus  foi 
a  thousand  fantastic  stories.  Some  of  these  fables,  to 
my  shame  be  it  spoken,  might  possibly  be  traced  back 
to  my  own  veracious  self ;  and  if  any  passages  of  the 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.         261 

present  tale  should  startle  the  reader's  faith.  I  must 
be  content  to  bear  the  stigma  of  a  fiction  monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him  talk  of  his 
proposed  experiment,  they  anticipated  nothing  more 
wonderful  than  the  murder  of  a  mouse  in  an  air  pump, 
or  the  examination  of  a  cobweb  by  the  microscope,  or 
some  similar  nonsense,  with  which  he  was  constantly 
in  the  habit  of  pestering  his  intimates.  But  without 
waiting  for  a  reply,  Dr.  Heidegger  hobbled  across  the 
chamber,  and  returned  with  the  same  ponderous  folio, 
bound  in  black  leather,  which  common  report  affirmed 
to  be  a  book  of  magic.  Undoing  the  silver  clasps,  he 
opened  the  volume,  and  took  from  among  its  black- 
letter  pages  a  rose,  or  what  was  once  a  rose,  though 
now  the  green  leaves  and  crimson  petals  had  assumed 
one  brownish  hue,  and  the  ancient  flower  seemed 
ready  to  crumble  to  dust  in  the  doctor's  hands. 

"  This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a  sigh,  "  this 
same  withered  and  crumbling  flower,  blossomed  five 
and  fifty  years  ago.  It  was  given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward, 
whose  portrait  hangs  yonder ;  and  I  meant  to  wear  it 
in  my  bosom  at  our  wedding.  Five  and  fifty  years  it 
has  been  treasured  between  the  leaves  of  this  old  vol 
ume.  Now,  would  you  deem  it  possible  that  this  rose 
of  half  a  century  could  ever  bloom  again  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Widow  Wyeherly,  with  a 
peevish  toss  of  her  head.  "  You  might  as  well  ask 
whether  an  old  woman's  wrinkled  face  could  ever 
bloom  again." 

u  See  !  "  answered  Dr.  Heidegger. 

He  uncovered  the  vase,  and  threw  the  faded  rose 
into  the  water  which  it  contained.  At  first,  it  lay 
lightly  on  the  surface  of  the  fluid,  appearing  to  im 
bibe  none  of  its  moisture.  Soon,  however,  a  singular 


262  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

change  began  to  be  visible.  The  crushed  and  dried 
petals  stirred,  and  assumed  a  deepening  tinge  of  crim 
son,  as  if  the  flower  were  reviving  from  a  deathlike 
slumber  ;  the  slender  stalk  and  twigs  of  foliage  be 
came  green  ;  and  there  was  the  rose  of  half  a  century, 
looking  as  fresh  as  when  Sylvia  Ward  had  first  given 
it  to  her  lover.  It  was  scarcely  full  blown  ;  for  some 
of  its  delicate  red  leaves  curled  modestly  around  its 
moist  bosom,  within  which  two  or  three  dewdrops 
were  sparkling. 

"  That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  deception,"  said 
the  doctor's  friends  ;  carelessly,  however,  for  they  had 
witnessed  greater  miracles  at  a  conjurer's  show  ;  "  pray 
how  was  it  effected?  " 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  '  Fountain  of  Youth  ? ' ' 
asked  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  which  Ponce  De  Leon,  the 
Spanish  adventurer,  went  in   search  of  two  or  three 
centuries  ago  ?  " 

"  But  did  Ponce  De  Leon  ever  find  it  ?  "  said  the 
Widow  Wycherly. 

"  No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  for  he  never 
sought  it  in  the  right  place.  The  famous  Fountain  of 
Youth,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  is  situated  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  Floridian  peninsula,  not  far  from 
Lake  Macaco.  Its  source  is  overshadowed  by  several 
gigantic  magnolias,  which,  though  numberless  centu 
ries  old,  have  been  kept  as  fresh  as  violets  by  the  vir 
tues  of  this  wonderful  water.  An  acquaintance  of 
mine,  knowing  my  curiosity  in  such  matters,  has  sent 
me  what  you  see  in  the  vase." 

"Ahem! "  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who  believed  not 
a  word  of  the  doctor's  story  ;  "  and  what  may  be  the 
effect  of  this  fluid  on  the  human  frame  ?  " 

"  You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  colonel,' 


DR.    HEIDEGGER'S    EXPERIMENT.         263 

replied  Dr.  Heidegger ;  "  and  all  of  you,  my  respected 
friends,  are  welcome  to  so  much  of  this  admirable 
fluid  as  may  restore  to  you  the  bloom  of  youth.  For 
my  own  part,  having  had  much  trouble  in  growing 
old,  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  grow  young  again.  With 
your  permission,  therefore,  I  will  merely  watch  the 
progress  of  the  experiment." 

•  While  he  spoke,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  filling  the 
four  champagne  glasses  with  the  water  of  the  Fount 
ain  of  Youth.  It  was  apparently  impregnated  with 
an  effervescent  gas,  for  little  bubbles  were  continually 
ascending  from  the  depths  of  the  glasses,  and  burst 
ing  in  silvery  spray  at  the  surface.  As  the  liquor  dif 
fused  a  pleasant  perfume,  the  old  people  doubted  not 
that  it  possessed  cordial  and  comfortable  properties  ; 
and  though  utter  sceptics  as  to  its  rejuvenescent  power, 
they  were  inclined  to  swallow  it  at  once.  But  Dr. 
Heiiegger  besought  them  to  stay  a  moment. 

"  Before  you  drink,  my  respectable  old  friends," 
said  he,  "  it  would  be  well  that,  with  the  experience 
of  a  lifetime  to  direct  you,  you  should  draw  up  a  few 
general  rules  for  your  guidance,  in  passing  a  second 
time  through  the  perils  of  youth.  Think  what  a  sin 
and  shame  it  woidd  be,  if,  with  your  pecidiar  advan 
tages,  you  should  not  become  patterns  of  virtue  and 
wisdom  to  all  the  young  people  of  the  age  !  " 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made  him  no 
answer,  except  by  a  feeble  and  tremulous  laugh  ;  so 
very  ridiculous  was  the  idea  that,  knowing  how  closely 
repentance  treads  behind  the  steps  of  error,  they 
should  ever  go  astray  again. 

"  Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing :  "  I  re 
joice  that  I  have  so  well  selected  the  subjects  of  my 
experiment." 


264  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

With  palsied  hands,  they  raised  the  glasses  to  their 
lips.  The  liquor,  if  it  really  possessed  such  virtues  as 
Dr.  Heidegger  imputed  to  it,  could  not  have  been 
bestowed  on  four  human  beings  who  needed  it  more 
wofully.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  never  known 
what  youth  or  pleasure  was,  but  had  been  the  offspring 
of  Nature's  dotage,  and  always  the  gray,  decrepit,  sap 
less,  miserable  creatures,  who  now  sat  stooping  round 
the  doctor's  table,  without  life  enough  in  their  souls 
or  bodies  to  be  animated  even  by  the  prospect  of  grow 
ing  young  again.  They  drank  off  the  water,  and  re 
placed  their  glasses  on  the  table. 

Assuredly  there  was  an  almost  immediate  improve 
ment  in  the  aspect  of  the  party,  not  unlike  what  might 
have  been  produced  by  a  glass  of  generous  wine,  to 
gether  with  a  sudden  glow  of  cheerful  sunshine  bright 
ening  over  all  their  visages  at  once.  There  was  a 
healthful  suffusion  on  their  cheeks,  instead  of  the 
ashen  hue  that  had  made  them  look  so  corpse-like. 
They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that  some 
magic  power  had  really  begun  to  smooth  away  the 
deep  and  sad  inscriptions  which  Father  Time  had  been 
so  long  engraving  on  their  brows.  The  Widow  Wych- 
erly  adjusted  her  cap,  for  she  felt  almost  like  a  woman 
again. 

"  Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water ! "  cried 
they,  eagerly.  "  We  are  younger  —  but  we  are  still 
too  old  !  Quick  —  give  us  more !  " 

"  Patience,  patience !  "  quoth  Dr.  Heidegger,  who 
sat  watching  the  experiment  with  philosophic  cool 
ness.  "  You  have  been  a  long  timo  growing  old. 
Surely,  you  might  be  content  to  grow  young  in  half 
an  hour !  But  the  water  is  at  your  service." 

Again   he   filled  their  glasses  with   the  liquor  oj 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.         265 

youth,  enough  of  which  still  remained  in  the  vase  to 
turn  half  the  old  people  in  the  city  to  the  age  of 
their  own  grandchildren.  While  the  bubbles  were 
yet  sparkling  on  the  brim,  the  doctor's  four  guests 
snatched  their  glasses  from  the  table,  and  swallowed 
the  contents  at  a  single  gulp.  Was  it  delusion  ?  even 
while  the  draught  was  passing  down  their  throats,  it 
seemed  to  have  wrought  a  change  on  their  whole  sys 
tems.  Their  eyes  grew  clear  and  bright ;  a  dark 
shade  deepened  among  their  silvery  locks,  they  sat 
around  the  table,  three  gentlemen  of  middle  age,  and 
a  woman,  hardly  beyond  her  buxom  prime. 

"  My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming  !  *'  cried  Colonel 
Killigrew,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  her  face, 
while  the  shadows  of  age  were  flitting  from  it  like 
darkness  from  the  crimson  daybreak. 

The  fair  widow  knew,  of  old,  that  Colonel  Killi- 
grew's  compliments  were  not  always  measured  by 
sober  truth ;  so  she  started  up  and  ran  to  the  mirror, 
still  dreading  that  the  ugly  visage  of  an  old  woman 
woidd  meet  her  gaze.  Meanwhile,  the  three  gentle 
men  behaved  in  such  a  manner  as  proved  that  the 
water  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  possessed  some  intoxi 
cating  qualities  ;  unless,  indeed,  their  exhilaration  of 
spirits  were  merely  a  lightsome  dizziness  caused  by 
the  sudden  removal  of  the  weight  of  years.  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne's  mind  seemed  to  run  on  political  topics,  but 
whether  relating  to  the  past,  present,  or  future,  could 
not  easily  be  determined,  since  the  same  ideas  and 
phrases  have  been  in  vogue  these  fifty  years.  Now  he 
rattled  forth  full-throated  sentences  about  patriotism, 
national  glory,  and  the  people's  right ;  now  he  mut 
tered  some  perilous  stun0  or  other,  in  a  sly  and  doubt 
ful  whisper,  so  cautiously  that  even  his  own  conscience 


266  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

could  scarcely  catch,  the  secret ;  and  now,  again,  he 
spoke  in  measured  accents,  and  a  deeply  deferential 
tone,  as  if  a  royal  ear  were  listening  to  his  well-turned 
periods.  Colonel  Killigrew  all  this  time  had  been 
trolling  forth  a  jolly  bottle  song,  and  ringing  his  glass 
in  symphony  with  the  chorus,  while  his  eyes  wandered 
toward  the  buxom  figure  of  the  Widow  Wycherly* 
On  the  other  side  of  the  table,  Mr.  Medbourne  was 
involved  in  a  calculation  of  dollars  and  cents,  with 
which  was  strangely  intermingled  a  project  for  sup 
plying  the  East  Indies  with  ice,  by  harnessing  a  team 
of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs. 

As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  she  stood  before  the 
mirror  courtesying  and  simpering  to  her  own  image, 
and  greeting  it  as  the  friend  whom  she  loved  better 
than  all  the  world  beside.  She  thrust  her  face  close 
to  the  glass,  to  see  whether  some  long-remembered 
wrinkle  or  crow's  foot  had  indeed  vanished.  She  ex 
amined  whether  the  snow  had  so  entirely  melted  from 
her  hair  that  the  venerable  cap  could  be  safely  thrown 
aside.  At  last,  turning  briskly  away,  she  came  with  a 
sort  of  dancing  step  to  the  table. 

"  My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "  pray  favor  me 
with  another  glass  !  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly ! "  replied 
the  complaisant  doctor ;  "  see  !  I  have  already  filled 
the  glasses." 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  glasses,  brimful  of  this 
wonderful  water,  the  delicate  spray  of  which,  as  it 
effervesced  from  the  surface,  resembled  the  tremulous 
glitter  of  diamonds.  It  was  now  so  nearly  sunset 
that  the  chamber  had  grown  duskier  than  ever ;  but 
a  mild  and  moonlike  splendor  gleamed  from  witjiin 
the  vase,  and  rested  alike  on  the  four  guests  and  OB 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S   EXPERIMENT.         267 

the  doctor's  venerable  figure.  He  sat  in  a  high- 
backed,  elaborately-carved,  oaken  arm-chair,  with  a 
gray  dignity  of  aspect  that  might  have  well  befitted 
that  very  Father  Time,  whose  power  had  never  been 
disputed,  save  by  this  fortunate  company.  Even 
while  quaffing  the  third  draught  of  the  Fountain  of 
Youth,  they  were  almost  awed  by  the  expression  of 
his  mysterious  visage. 

But,  the  next  moment,  the  exhilarating  gush  of 
young  life  shot  through  their  veins.  They  were 
now  in  the  happy  prime  of  youth.  Age,  with  its 
miserable  train  of  cares  and  sorrows  and  diseases, 
was  remembered  only  as  the  trouble  of  a  dream,  from 
which  they  had  joyously  awoke.  The  fresh  gloss  of 
the  soul,  so  early  lost,  and  without  which  the  world's 
successive  scenes  had  been  but  a  gallery  of  faded  pict 
ures,  again  threw  its  enchantment  over  all  their  pros 
pects.  They  felt  like  new-created  beings  in  a  new- 
created  universe. 

"  We  are  young !  We  are  young !  "  they  cried 
exultingly. 

Youth,  like  the  extremity  of  age,  had  effaced  the 
strongly-marked  characteristics  of  middle  life,  and 
mutually  assimilated  them  all.  They  were  a  group 
of  merry  youngsters,  almost  maddened  with  the  ex 
uberant  frolicsomeness  of  their  years.  The  most  sin 
gular  effect  of  their  gayety  was  an  impulse  to  mock 
the  infirmity  and  decrepitude  of  which  they  had  so 
lately  been  the  victims.  They  laughed  loudly  at  their 
old-fashioned  attire,  the  wide-skirted  coats  and  flapped 
waistcoats  of  the  young  men,  and  the  ancient  cap  and 
gown  of  the  blooming  girl.  One  limped  across  the 
floor  like  a  gouty  grandfather  :  one  set  a  pair  of  spec 
tacles  astride  of  his  nose,  and  pretended  to  pore  over 


268  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  black-letter  pages  of  the  book  of  magic  ;  a  third 
seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair,  and  strove  to  imitate 
the  venerable  dignity  of  Dr.  Heidegger.  Then  all 
shouted  mirthfully,  and  leaped  about  the  room.  The 
Widow  Wycherly  —  if  so  fresh  a  damsel  could  be 
called  a  widow  —  tripped  up  to  the  docter's  chair, 
with  a  mischievous  merriment  in  her  rosy  face. 

"  Doctor,  you  dear  old  soul,"  cried  she,  "  get  up  and 
dance  with  me  !  "  And  then  the  four  young  people 
laughed  louder  than  ever,  to  think  what  a  queer  figure 
the  poor  old  doctor  would  cut. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,"  answered  the  doctor  quietly. 
"I  am  old  and  rheumatic,  and  my  dancing  days 
were  over  long  ago.  But  either  of  these  gay 
young  gentlemen  will  be  glad  of  so  pretty  a  part 
ner." 

"  Dance  with  me,  Clara  !  "  cried  Colonel  Killigrew. 

"  No,  no,  I  will  be  her  partner ! "  shouted  Mr. 
Gascoigne. 

"  She  promised  me  her  hand,  fifty  years  ago !  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Medbourne. 

They  all  gathered  round  her.  One  caught  both 
her  hands  in  his  passionate  grasp  —  another  threw 
his  arm  about  her  waist  —  the  third  buried  his  hand 
among  the  glossy  curls  that  clustered  beneath  the 
widow's  cap.  Blushing,  panting,  struggling,  chiding, 
laughing,  her  warm  breath  fanning  each  of  their 
faces  by  turns,  she  strove  to  disengage  herself,  yet 
still  remained  in  their  triple  embrace.  Never  was 
there  a  livelier  picture  of  youthful  rivalship,  with 
bewitching  beauty  for  the  prize.  Yet,  by  a  strange 
deception,  owing  to  the  duskiness  of  the  chamber, 
and  the  antique  dresses  which  they  still  wore,  tjie 
tall  mirror  is  said  to  have  reflected  the  figures  of 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.         269 

the  three  old,  gray,  withered  grandsires,  ridiculously 
contending  for  the  skinny  ugliness  of  a  shrivelled 
grandam. 

But  they  were  young:  their  burning  passions 
proved  them  so.  Inflamed  to  madness  by  the  co 
quetry  of  the  girl-widow,  who  neither  granted  nor 
quite  withheld  her  favors,  the  three  rivals  began  to 
interchange  threatening  glances.  Still  keeping  hold 
of  the  fair  prize,  they  grappled  fiercely  at  one  an 
other's  throats.  As  they  struggled  to  and  fro,  the 
table  was  overturned,  and  the  vase  dashed  into  a  thou 
sand  fragments.  The  precious  AVater'of  Youth  flowed 
in  a  bright  stream  across  the  floor,  moistening  the 
wings  of  a  butterfly,  which,  grown  old  in  the  decline 
of  summer,  had  alighted  there  to  die.  The  insect  flut 
tered  lightly  through  the  chamber,  and  settled  on  the 
snowy  head  of  Dr.  Heidegger. 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen !  —  come,  Madam  Wych- 
erly,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  4u  I  really  must  protest 
against  this  riot." 

They  stood  still  and  shivered;  for  it  seemed  as  if 
gray  Time  were  calling  them  back  from  their  sunny 
youth,  far  down  into  the  chill  and  darksome  vale  of 
years.  They  looked  at  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  in 
his  carved  arm-chair,  holding  the  rose  of  half  a  cent 
ury,  which  he  had  rescued  from  among  the  fragments 
of  the  shattered  vase.  At  the  motion  of  his  hand,  the 
four  rioters  resinned  their  seats  ;  the  more  readily,  be 
cause  their  violent  exertions  had  wearied  them,  youth- 
fid  though  they  were. 

"  My  poor  Sylvia's  rose ! "  ejaculated  Dr.  Heideg 
ger,  holding  it  in  the  light  of  the  sunset  clouds ;  "  it 
appears  to  be  fading  again."' 

And  so  it  was.     Even  while  the  party  were  looking 


270  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

at  it,  the  flower  continued  to  shrivel  up,  till  it  became 
as  dry  and  fragile  as  when  the  doctor  had  first  thrown 
it  into  the  vase.  He  shook  off  the  few  drops  of  moist 
ure  which  clung  to  its  petals. 

" 1  love  it  as  well  thus  as  in  its  dewy  freshness," 
observed  he,  pressing  the  withered  rose  to  his  with 
ered  lips.  While  he  spoke,  the  butterfly  fluttered 
down  from  the  doctor's  snowy  head,  and  fell  upon  the 
floor. 

His  guests  shivered  again.  A  strange  chillness, 
whether  of  the  body  or  spirit  they  could  not  tell,  was 
creeping  gradually  over  them  all.  They  gazed  at 
one  another,  and  fancied  that  each  fleeting  moment 
snatched  away  a  charm,  and  left  a  deepening  furrow 
where  none  had  been  before.  Was  it  an  illusion? 
Had  the  changes  of  a  lifetime  been  crowded  into  so 
brief  a  space,  and  were  they  now  four  aged  people, 
sitting  with  their  old  friend,  Dr.  Heidegger  ? 

"Are  we  grown  old  again,  so  soon?"  cried  they, 
dolefully. 

In  truth  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth  possessed 
merely  a  virtue  more  transient  than  that  of  wine.  The 
delirium  which  it  created  had  effervesced  away.  Yes ! 
they  were  old  again.  With  a  shuddering  impulse, 
that  showed  her  a  woman  still,  the  widow  clasped  her 
skinny  hands  before  her  face,  and  wished  that  the 
coffin  lid  were  over  it,  since  it  could  be  no  longer 
beautiful. 

"  Yes,  friends,  ye  are  old  again,"  said  Dr.  Heideg 
ger,  "  and  lo !  the  Water  of  Youth  is  all  lavished  011 
•the  ground.  Well — I  bemoan  it  not;  for  if  the  fount 
ain  gushed  at  my  very  doorstep,  I  would  not  stoop  to 
bathe  my  lips  in  it  —  no,  though  its  delirium  were  for 
years  instead  of  moments.  Such  is  the  lesson  ye  have 
taught  me ! " 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.         271 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught  no  such 
lesson  to  themselves.  They  resolved  forthwith  to 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  Florida,  and  quaff  at  morning, 
noon,  and  night,  from  the  Fountain  of  Youth. 

NOTE.  —  In  an  English  review,  not  long  since,  I  have  been  accused 
of  plagiarizing  the  idea  of  this  story  from  a  chapter  in  one  of  the  nov 
els  of  Alexanure  Dumas.  There  has  undoubtedly  been  a  plagiarism 
on  one  side  or  the  other;  but  as  my  story  was  written  a  good  deal 
more  than  twenty  years  ago,  and  as  the  novel  is  of  considerablv  more 
recent  date,  I  take  pleasure  in  thinking  that  M.  Dumas  has  done  me 
the  honor  to  appropriate  one  of  the  fanciful  conceptions  of  my  earlier 
days.  He  is  heartily  welcome  to  it ;  nor  is  it  the  only  instance,  by 
many,  in  which  the  great  French  romancer  has  exercised  the  privi 
lege  of  commanding  genius  by  confiscating  the  intellectual  property 
of  less  famous  people  to  his  own  use  and  behoof. 

September,  1860. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

I. 
HOWE'S   MASQUERADE. 

ONE  afternoon,  last  summer,  while  walking  along 
Washington  Street,  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a  sign- 
board  protruding  over  a  narrow  archway,  nearly  oppo 
site  the  Old  South  Church.  The  sign  represented  the 
front  of  a  stately  edifice,  which  was  designated  as  the 
"  OLD  PROVINCE  HOUSE,  kept  by  Thomas  Waite." 
I  was  glad  to  be  thus  reminded  of  a  purpose,  long  en 
tertained,  of  visiting  and  rambling  over  the  mansion 
of  the  old  royal  governors  of  Massachusetts  ;  and  en 
tering  the  arched  passage,  which  penetrated  through 
the  middle  of  a  brick  row  of  shops,  a  few  steps  trans 
ported  me  from  the  busy  heart  of  modern  Boston 
into  a  small  and  secluded  court-yard.  One  side  of 
this  space  was  occupied  by  the  square  front  of  the 
Province  House,  three  stories  high,  and  surmounted 
by  a  cupola,  on  the  top  of  which  a  gilded  Indian  was 
discernible,  with  his  bow  bent  and  his  arrow  on  the 
string,  as  if  aiming  at  the  weathercock  on  the  spire 
of  the  Old  South.  The  figure  has  kept  this  attitude 
for  seventy  years  or  more,  ever  since  good  Deacon 
Drowne,  a  cunning  carver  of  wood,  first  stationed  him 
on  his  long  sentinel's  watch  over  the  city. 

The  Province  House  is  constructed  of  brick,  which 
seems  recently  to  have  been  overlaid  with  a  coat  of 
light-colored  paint.  A  flight  of  red  freestone  steps, 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  273 

fenced  in  by  a  balustrade  of  curiously  wrought  iron, 
ascends  from  the  court-yard  to  the  spacious  porch, 
over  which  is  a  balcony,  with  an  iron  balustrade  of 
similar  pattern  and  workmanship  to  that  beneath. 
These  letters  and  figures  — 16  P.  S.  79  —  are  wrought 
into  the  iron  work  of  the  balcony,  and  probably  ex 
press  the  date  of  the  edifice,  with  the  initials  of  its 
founder's  name.  A  wide  door  with  double  leaves  ad 
mitted  me  into  the  hall  or  entry,  on  the  right  of  which 
is  the  entrance  to  the  bar-room. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  I  presume,  that  the  an 
cient  governors  held  their  levees,  with  vice-regal  pomp, 
surrounded  by  the  military  men,  the  councillors,  the 
judges,  and  other  officers  of  the  crown,  while  all  the 
loyalty  of  the  province  thronged  to  do  them  honor. 
But  the  room,  in  its  present  condition,  cannot  boast 
even  of  faded  magnificence.  The  panelled  wainscot 
is  covered  with  dingy  paint,  and  acquires  a  duskier 
hue  from  the  deep  shadow  into  which  the  Province 
House  is  thrown  by  the  brick  block  that  shuts  it  in 
from  Washington  Street.  A  ray  of  sunshine  never 
visits  this  apartment  any  more  than  the  glare  of  the 
festal  torches,  which  have  been  extinguished  from  the 
era  of  the  Revolution.  The  most  venerable  and  orna 
mental  object  is  a  chimney-piece  set  round  with  Dutch 
tiles  of  blue-figured  China,  representing  scenes  from 
Scripture ;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  the  lady  of  Pownall 
or  Bernard  may  have  sat  beside  this  fire-place,  and 
told  her  children  the  story  of  each  blue  tile.  A  bar 
in  modern  style,  well  replenished  with  decanters,  bot 
tles,  cigar  boxes,  and  net-work  bags  of  lemons,  and 
provided  with  a  beer  pump  and  a  soda  fount,  extends 
along  one  side  of  the  room.  At  my  entrance,  an  eld 
erly  person  was  smacking  his  lips  with  a  zest  which 

YOU    L  18 


274  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

satisfied  me  that  the  cellars  of  the  Province  House 
still  hold  good  liquor,  though  doubtless  of  other  vint 
ages  than  were  quaffed  by  the  old  governors.  After 
sipping  a  glass  of  port  sangaree,  prepared  by  the  skil 
ful  hands  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  I  besought  that  wor 
thy  successor  and  representative  of  so  many  historic 
personages  to  conduct  me  over  their  time  honored 
mansion. 

Pie  readily  complied;  but,  to  confess  the  truth,  I 
was  forced  to  draw  strenuously  upon  my  imagination, 
in  order  to  find  aught  that  was  interesting  in  a  house 
which,  without  its  historic  associations,  would  have 
seemed  merely  such  a  tavern  as  is  usually  favored  by 
the  custom  of  decent  city  boarders,  and  old-fashioned 
country  gentlemen.  The  chambers,  which  were  prob 
ably  spacious  in  former  times,  are  now  cut  up  by 
partitions,  and  subdivided  into  little  nooks,  each  af 
fording  scanty  room  for  the  narrow  bed  and  chair 
and  dressing-table  of  a  single  lodger.  The  great 
staircase,  however,  may  be  termed,  without  much 
hyperbole,  a  feature  of  grandeur  and  magnificence. 
It  winds  through  the  midst  of  the  house  by  flights  of 
broad  steps,  each  flight  terminating  in  a  square  land 
ing-place,  whence  the  ascent  is  continued  towards  the 
cupola.  A  carved  balustrade,  freshly  painted  in  the 
lower  stories,  but  growing  dingier  as  we  ascend,  bor 
ders  the  staircase  with  its  quaintly  twisted  and  inter 
twined  pillars,  from  top  to  bottom.  Up  these  stairs  the 
military  boots,  or  perchance  the  gouty  shoes,  of  many 
a  governor  have  trodden,  as  the  wearers  mounted  to 
the  cupola,  which  afforded  them  so  wide  a  view  over 
their  metropolis  and  the  surrounding  country.  The 
cupola  is  an  octagon,  with  several  windows,  and  a  d9Oi 
opening  upon  the  roof.  From  this  station,  as  I  pleased 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  275 

myself  with  imagining,  Gage  may  have  beheld  his  dis 
astrous  victory  on  Bunker  Hill  (unless  one  of  the  tri- 
mountains  intervened),  and  Howe  have  marked  the 
approaches  of  Washington's  besieging  army ;  although 
the  buildings  since  erected  in  the  vicinity  have  shut 
out  almost  every  object,  save  the  steeple  of  the  Old 
South,  which  seems  almost  within  arm's  length.  De 
scending  from  the  cupola,  I  paused  in  the  garret  to 
observe  the  ponderous  white-oak  framework,  so  much 
more  massive  than  the  frames  of  modern  houses,  and 
thereby  resembling  an  antique  skeleton.  The  brick 
walls,  the  materials  of  which  were  imported  from 
Holland,  and  the  timbers  of  the  mansion,  are  still  as 
sound  as  ever  ;  but  the  floors  and  other  interior  parts 
being  greatly  decayed,  it  is  contemplated  to  gut  the 
whole,  and  build  a  new  house  within  the  ancient  frame 
and  brick  work.  Among  other  inconveniences  of  the 
present  edifice,  mine  host  mentioned  that  any  jar  or 
motion  was  apt  to  shake  down  the  dust  of  ages  out  of 
the  ceiling  of  one  chamber  upon  the  floor  of  that  be 
neath  it. 

We  stepped  forth  from  the  great  front  window  into 
the  balcony,  where,  in  old  times,  it  was  doubtless  the 
custom  of  the  king's  representative  to  show  himself  to 
a  loyal  populace,  requiting  their  huzzas  and  tossed-up 
hats  with  stately  bendings  of  his  dignified  person.  In 
those  days  the  front  of  the  Province  House  looked 
upon  the  street ;  and  the  whole  site  now  occupied  by 
the  brick  range  of  stores,  as  well  as  the  present  court 
yard,  was  laid  out  in  grass  plats,  overshadowed  by 
trees  and  bordered  by  a  wrought-iron  fence.  Now, 
the  old  aristocratic  edifice  hides  its  time-worn  visage 
behind  an  upstart  modern  building ;  at  one  of  the  back 
windows  I  observed  some  pretty  tailoresses,  sewing 


276  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  chatting  and  laughing,  with  now  and  then  a  care 
less  glance  towards  the  balcony.  Descending  thence, 
we  again  entered  the  bar-room,  where  the  elderly  gen 
tleman  above  mentioned,  the  smack  of  whose  lips  had 
spoken  so  favorably  for  Mr.  Waite's  good  liquor,  was 
still  lounging  in  his  chair.  He  seemed  to  be,  if  not  a 
lodger,  at  least  a  familiar  visitor  of  the  house,  who 
might  be  supposed  to  have  his  regular  score  at  the  bar, 
his  summer  seat  at  the  open  window,  and  his  prescrip 
tive  corner  at  the  winter's  fireside.  Being  of  a  socia 
ble  aspect,  I  ventured  to  address  him  with  a  remark 
calculated  to  draw  forth  his  historical  reminiscences, 
if  any  such  were  in  his  mind ;  and  it  gratified  me  to 
discover,  that,  between  memory  and  tradition,  the  old 
gentleman  was  really  possessed  of  some  very  pleasant 
gossip  about  the  Province  House.  The  portion  of  his 
talk  which  chiefly  interested  me  was  the  outline  of  the 
following  legend.  He  professed  to  have  received  it  at 
one  or  two  removes  from  an  eye-witness ;  but  this  de 
rivation,  together  with  the  lapse  of  time,  must  have 
afforded  opportunities  for  many  variations  of  the  nar 
rative  ;  so  that  despairing  of  literal  and  absolute  truth, 
I  have  not  scrupled  to  make  such  further  changes  as 
seemed  conducive  to  the  reader's  profit  and  delight. 


At  one  of  the  entertainments  given  at  the  Province 
House,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  siege  of  Boston, 
there  passed  a  scene  which  has  never  yet  been  satis 
factorily  explained.  The  officers  of  the  British  army, 
and  the  loyal  gentry  of  the  province,  most  of  whom 
were  collected  within  the  beleaguered  town,  had  been 
invited  to  a  masked  ball ;  for  it  was  the  policy  of*  Sir 
William  Howe  to  hide  the  distress  and  danger  of  the 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  277 

period,  and  the  desperate  aspect  of  the  siege,  under 
an  ostentation  of  festivity.  The  spectacle  of  this  even 
ing,  if  the  oldest  members  of  the  provincial  court  cir 
cle  might  be  believed,  was  the  most  gay  and  gorgeous 
affair  that  had  occurred  in  the  annals  of  the  gov 
ernment.  The  brilliantly-lighted  apartments  were 
thronged  with  figures  that  seemed  to  have  stepped 
from  the  dark  canvas  of  historic  portraits,  or  to  have 
flitted  forth  from  the  magic  pages  of  romance,  or  at 
least  to  have  flown  hither  from  one  of  the  London 
theatres,  without  a  change  of  garments.  Steeled 
knights  of  the  Conquest,  bearded  statesmen  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  and  high-ruffled  ladies  of  her  court,  were 
mingled  with  characters  of  comedy,  such  as  a  party- 
colored  Merry  Andrew,  jingling  his  cap  and  bells ;  a 
Falstaff,  almost  as  provocative  of  laughter  as  his  pro 
totype  ;  and  a  Don  Quixote,  with  a  bean  pole  for  a 
lance,  and  a  pot  lid  for  a  shield. 

But  the  broadest  merriment  was  excited  by  a  group 
of  figures  ridiculously  dressed  in  old  regimentals, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  purchased  at  a  military 
rag  fair,  or  pilfered  from  some  receptacle  of  the  cast- 
off  clothes  of  both  the  French  and  British  armies. 
Portions  of  their  attire  had  probably  been  worn  at  the 
siege  of  Louisburg,  and  the  coats  of  most  recent  cut 
might  have  been  rent  and  tattered  by  sword,  ball,  or 
bayonet,  as  long  ago  as  Wolfe's  victory.  One  of 
these  worthies  —  a  tall,  lank  figure,  brandishing  a 
rusty  sword  of  immense  longitude  —  purported  to  be 
no  less  a  personage  than  General  George  Washing 
ton  ;  and  the  other  principal  officers  of  the  American 
army,  such  as  Gates,  Lee,  Putnam,  Schuyler,  Ward 
and  Heath,  were  represented  by  similar  scarecrows. 
An  interview  in  the  mock  heroic  style,  between  the 


278  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

rebel  warriors  and  the  British  commander-in-chief, 
was  received  with  immense  applause,  which  came 
loudest  of  all  from  the  loyalists  of  the  colony.  There 
was  one  of  the  guests,  however,  who  stood  apart,  eye 
ing  these  antics  sternly  and  scornfully,  at  once  with  a 
frown  and  a  bitter  smile. 

It  was  an  old  man,  formerly  of  high  station  and 
great  repute  in  the  province,  and  who  had  been  a  very 
famous  soldier  in  his  day.  Some  surprise  had  been 
expressed  that  a  person  of  Colonel  Joliffe's  known 
whig  principles,  though  now  too  old  to  take  an  active 
part  in  the  contest,  should  have  remained  in  Boston 
during  the  siege,  and  especially  that  he  should  consent 
to  show  himself  in  the  mansion  of  Sir  William  Howe. 
But  thither  he  had  come,  with  a  fair  granddaughter 
under  his  arm  ;  and  there,  amid  all  the  mirth  and 
buffoonery,  stood  this  stern  old  figure,  the  best  sus 
tained  character  in  the  masquerade,  because  so  well 
representing  the  antique  spirit  of  his  native  land. 
The  other  guests  affirmed  that  Colonel  Joliffe's  black 
puritanical  scowl  threw  a  shadow  round  about  him  ; 
although  in  spite  of  his  sombre  influence  their  gayety 
continued  to  blaze  higher,  like  —  (an  ominous  com 
parison)  —  the  flickering  brilliancy  of  a  lamp  which 
has  but  a  little  while  to  burn.  Eleven  strokes,  full 
half  an  hour  ago,  had  pealed  from  the  clock  of  the 
Old  South,  when  a  rumor  was  circulated  among  the 
company  that  some  new  spectacle  or  pageant  was 
about  to  be  exhibited,  which  should  put  a  fitting  close 
to  the  splendid  festivities  of  the  night. 

"  What  new  jest  has  your  Excellency  in  hand  ?  " 
asked  the  Rev.  Mather  Byles,  whose  Presbyterian 
scruples  had  not  kept  him  from  the  entertainment 
w  Trust  me,  sir,  I  have  already  laughed  more  than 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  279 

beseems  my  cloth  at  your  Homeric  confabulation  with 
yonder  ragamuffin  General  of  the  rebels.  One  other 
such  fit  of  merriment,  and  I  must  throw  off  my  cler 
ical  wig  and  band." 

"  Not  so,  good  Doctor  Byles,"  answered  Sir  Wil 
liam  Howe  ;  "  if  mirth  were  a  crime,  you  had  never 
gained  your  doctorate  in  divinity.  As  to  this  new 
foolery,  I  know  no  more  about  it  than  yourself ;  per 
haps  not  so  much.  Honestly  now,  Doctor,  have  you 
not  stirred  up  the  sober  brains  of  some  of  your  coun 
trymen  to  enact  a  scene  in  our  masquerade  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  slyly  remarked  the  granddaughter  of 
Colonel  Joliffe,  whose  high  spirit  had  been  stung  by 
many  taunts  against  New  England,  — "  perhaps  we 
are  to  have  a  mask  of  allegorical  figures.  Victory, 
with  trophies  from  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill  — 
Plenty,  with  her  overflowing  horn,  to  typify  the  pres 
ent  abundance  in  this  good  town  —  and  Glory,  with  a 
wreath  for  his  Excellency's  brow." 

Sir  William  Howe  smiled  at  words  which  he  would 
have  answered  with  one  of  his  darkest  frowns  had 
they  been  uttered  by  lips  that  wore  a  beard.  He  was 
spared  the  necessity  of  a  retort,  by  a  singular  inter 
ruption.  A  sound  of  music  was  heard  without  the 
house,  as  if  proceeding  from  a  full  band  of  military 
instruments  stationed  in  the  street,  playing  not  such  a 
festal  strain  as  was  suited  to  the  occasion,  but  a  slow 
funeral  march.  The  drums  appeared  to  be  muffled, 
and  the  trumpets  poured  forth  a  wailing  breath,  which 
at  once  hushed  the  merriment  of  the  auditors,  filling 
all  with  wonder,  and  some  with  apprehension.  The 
idea  occurred  to  many  that  either  the  funeral  proces 
sion  of  some  great  personage  had  halted  in  front  of 
the  Province  House,  or  that  a  corpse,  in  a  velvet- 


280  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

covered  and  gorgeously-decorated  coffin,  was  about  to 
be  borne  from  the  portal.  After  listening  a  moment, 
Sir  William  Howe  called,  in  a  stern  voice,  to  the 
leader  of  the  musicians,  who  had  hitherto  enlivened 
the  entertainment  with  gay  and  lightsome  melodies. 
The  man  was  drum-major  to  one  of  the  British  regi 
ments. 

"  Dighton,"  demanded  the  general,  "  what  meana 
this  foolery  ?  Bid  your  band  silence  that  dead  march 
—  or,  by  my  word,  they  shall  have  sufficient  cause  for 
their  lugubrious  strains  !  Silence  it,  sirrah  !  " 

"Please  your  honor,"  answered  the  drum-major, 
whose  rubicund  visage  had  lost  all  its  color,  "  the  fault 
is  none  of  mine.  I  and  my  band  are  all  here  together, 
and  I  question  whether  there  be  a  man  of  us  that  could 
play  that  march  without  book.  I  never  heard  it  but 
once  before,  and  that  was  at  the  funeral  of  his  late 
Majesty,  King  George  the  Second." 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Sir  William  Howe,  recovering 
his  composure  —  "  it  is  the  prelude  to  some  masquer 
ading  antic.  Let  it  pass." 

A  figure  now  presented  itself,  but  among  the  many 
fantastic  masks  that  were  dispersed  through  the  apart 
ments  none  could  tell  precisely  from  whence  it  came. 
It  was  a  man  in  an  old-fashioned  dress  of  black  serge, 
and  having  the  aspect  of  a  steward  or  principal  do 
mestic  in  the  household  of  a  nobleman  or  great  Eng 
lish  landholder.  This  figure  advanced  to  the  outer 
door  of  the  mansion,  and  throwing  both  its  leaves 
wide  open,  withdrew  a  little  to  one  side  and  looked 
back  towards  the  grand  staircase  as  if  expecting  some 
person  to  descend.  At  the  same  time  the  music  in 
the  street  sounded  a  loud  and  doleful  summons.  The 
eyes  of  Sir  William  Howe  and  his  guests  being  di 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  281 

rected  to  the  staircase,  there  appeared,  on  the  upper 
most  landing-place  that  was  discernible  from  the  bot 
tom,  several  personages  descending  towards  the  door. 
The  foremost  was  a  man  of  stern  visage,  wearing  a 
steeple-crowned  hat  and  a  skull-cap  beneath  it ;  a  dark 
cloak,  and  huge  wrinkled  boots  that  came  half-way  up 
his  legs.  Under  his  arm  was  a  rolled-up  banner, 
which  seemed  to  be  the  banner  of  Eno'land,  but 

O 

strangely  rent  and  torn  ;  he  had  a  sword  in  his  right 
hand,  and  grasped  a  Bible  in  his  left.  The  next  figure 
was  of  milder  aspect,  yet  full  of  dignity,  wearing  a 
broad  ruff,  over  which  descended  a  beard,  a  gown  of 
wrought  velvet,  and  a  doublet  and  hose  of  black  satin. 
He  carried  a  roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand.  Close 
behind  these  two  came  a  young  man  of  very  striking 
countenance  and  demeanor,  with  deep  thought  and 
contemplation  on  his  brow,  and  perhaps  a  flash  of  en 
thusiasm  in  his  eye.  His  garb,  like  that  of  his  prede 
cessors,  was  of  an  antique  fashion,  and  there  was  a 
stain  of  blood  upon  his  ruff.  In  the  same  group  with 
these  were  three  or  four  others,  all  men  of  dignity  and 
evident  command,  and  bearing  themselves  like  person 
ages  who  were  accustomed  to  the  gaze  of  the  multitude. 
It  was  the  idea  of  the  beholders  that  these  figures 
went  to  join  the  mysterious  funeral  that  had  halted  in 
front  of  the  Province  House ;  yet  that  supposition 
seemed  to  be  contradicted  by  the  air  of  triumph  with 
which  they  waved  their  hands,  as  they  crossed  the 
threshold  and  vanished  through  the  portal. 

" In  the  devil's  name  what  is  this?"  muttered  Sir 
William  Howe  to  a  gentleman  beside  him ;  "  a  pro 
fession  of  the  regicide  judges  of  King  Charles  the 
martyr  ?  " 

"  These,"  said  Colonel  Joliffe,  breaking  silence  al 


282  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

most  for  the  first  time  that  evening,  —  "  these,  if  I  in 
terpret  them  aright,  are  the  Puritan  governors  —  the 
rulers  of  the  old  original  Democracy  of  Massachusetts. 
Endicott,  with  the  banner  from  which  he  had  torn  the 
symbol  of  subjection,  and  Winthrop,  and  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  and  Dudley,  Haynes,  Bellingham,  and  Lev- 
erett." 

"  Why  had  that  young  man  a  stain  of  blood  upon 
his  ruff  ?  "  asked  Miss  Joliffe. 

"  Because,  in  after  years,"  answered  her  grand 
father,  "he  laid  down  the  wisest  head  in  England 
upon  the  block  for  the  principles  of  liberty." 

"  Will  not  your  Excellency  order  out  the  guard  ?" 
whispered  Lord  Percy,  who,  with  other  British  officers, 
had  now  assembled  round  the  General.  "  There  may 
be  a  plot  under  this  mummery." 

"  Tush  !  we  have  nothing  to  fear,"  carelessly  replied 
Sir  William  Howe.  "  There  can  be  no  worse  treason 
in  the  matter  than  a  jest,  and  that  somewhat  of  the 
dullest.  Even  were  it  a  sharp  and  bitter  one,  our  best 
policy  would  be  to  laugh  it  off.  See  —  here  come 
more  of  these  gentry." 

Another  group  of  characters  had  now  partly  de 
scended  the  staircase.  The  first  was  a  venerable  and 
white-bearded  patriarch,  who  cautiously  felt  his  way 
downward  with  a  staff.  Treading  hastily  behind  him, 
and  stretching  forth  his  gauntleted  hand  as  if  to  grasp 
the  old  man's  shoulder,  came  a  tall,  soldier-like  figure, 
equipped  with  a  plumed  cap  of  steel,  a  bright  breast 
plate,  and  a  long  sword,  which  rattled  against  the 
stairs.  Next  was  seen  a  stout  man,  dressed  in  rich 
and  courtly  attire,  but  not  of  courtly  demeanor ;  hia 
gait  had  the  swinging  motion  of  a  seaman's  walk; 
and  chancing  to  stumble  on  the  staircase,  he  suddenly 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  283 

grew  wrathful,  and  was  heard  to  mutter  an  oath.  He 
was  followed  by  a  noble-looking  personage  in  a  curled 
wig,  such  as  are  represented  in  the  portraits  of  Queen 
Anne's  time  and  earlier  ;  and  the  breast  of  his  coat 
was  decorated  with  an  embroidered  star.  "While  ad 
vancing  to  the  door,  he  bowed  to  the  right  hand  and 
to  the  left,  in  a  very  gracious  and  insinuating  style  ; 
but  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  unlike  the  early  Puri 
tan  governors,  he  seemed  to  wring  his  hands  with 
sorrow. 

"Prithee,  play  the  part  of  a  chorus,  good  Doctor 
Byles,"  said  Sir  William  Howe.  "  What  worthies  are 
these?" 

"  If  it  please  your  Excellency  they  lived  somewhat 
before  my  day,"  answered  the  doctor ;  "  but  doubtless 
our  friend,  the  Colonel,  has  been  hand  and  glove  with 
them." 

u  Their  living  faces  I  never  looked  upon,"  said 
Colonel  Joliffe,  gravely ;  "  although  I  have  spoken 
face  to  face  with  many  rulers  of  this  land,  and  shall 
greet  yet  another  with  an  old  man's  blessing  ere  I  die. 
But  we  talk  of  these  figures.  I  take  the  venerable 
patriarch  to  be  Bradstreet,  the  last  of  the  Puritans, 
who  was  governor  at  ninety,  or  thereabouts.  The  next 
is  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  a  tyrant,  as  any  New  England 
school-boy  will  tell  you ;  and  therefore  the  people  cast 
him  down  from  his  high  seat  into  a  dungeon.  Then 
conies  Sir  William  Phipps,  shepherd,  cooper,  sea-cap 
tain,  and  governor  —  may  many  of  his  countrymen  rise 
as  high  from  as  low  an  origin !  Lastly,  you  saw  the 
gracious  Earl  of  Bellamont,  who  rule'd  us  under  King 
William." 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all?  "  asked  Lotd 
Percy. 


284  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"Now,  were  I  a  rebel,"  said  Miss  Joliffe,  half 
aloud,  "  I  might  fancy  that  the  ghosts  of  these  ancient 
governors  had  been  summoned  to  form  the  funeral 
procession  of  royal  authority  in  New  England." 

Several  other  figures  were  now  seen  at  the  turn  of 
the  staircase.  The  one  in  advance  had  a  thoughtful, 
anxious,  and  somewhat  crafty  expression  of  face,  and 
in  spite  of  his  loftiness  of  manner,  which  was  evidently 
the  result  both  of  an  ambitious  spirit  and  of  long  con 
tinuance  in  high  stations,  he  seemed  not  incapable  of 
cringing  to  a  greater  than  himself.  A  few  steps  be 
hind  came  an  officer  in  a  scarlet  and  embroidered  uni 
form,  cut  in  a  fashion  old  enough  to  have  been  worn 
by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  His  nose  had  a  rubi 
cund  tinge,  which,  together  with  the  twinkle  of  his 
eye,  might  have  marked  him  as  a  lover  of  the  wine 
cup  and  good  fellowship ;  notwithstanding  which  to 
kens  he  appeared  ill  at  ease,  and  often  glanced  around 
him  as  if  apprehensive  of  some  secret  mischief.  Next 
came  a  portly  gentleman,  wearing  a  coat  of  shaggy 
cloth,  lined  with  silken  velvet ;  he  had  sense,  shrewd 
ness,  and  humor  in  his  face,  and  a  folio  volume  under 
his  arm  ;  but  his  aspect  was  that  of  a  man  vexed  and 
tormented  beyond  all  patience,  and  harassed  almost 
to  death.  He  went  hastily  down,  and  was  followed 
by  a  dignified  person,  dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  suit, 
with  very  rich  embroidery ;  his  demeanor  would  have 
possessed  much  stateliness,  only  that  a  grievous  fit  of 
the  gout  compelled  him  to  hobble  from  stair  to  stair, 
with  contortions  of  face  and  body.  When  Dr.  ByLs 
beheld  this  figure  on  the  staircase,  he  shivered  as  with 
an  ague,  but  continued  to  watch  him  steadfastly,  untn 
the  gouty  gentleman  had  reached  the  threshold,  mada 
a  gesture  of  anguish  and  despair,  and  vanished  into 


HOWE'S   MASQUERADE.  285 

the  outer  gloom,  whither  the  funeral  music  summoned 
him. 

"  Governor  Belcher !  —  my  old  patron !  —  in  his 
very  shape  and  dress !  "  gasped  Doctor  Byles.  "  This 
is  an  awful  mocker}7 ! " 

"  A  tedious  foolery,  rather,"  said  Sir  William  Howe, 
with  an  air  of  indifference.  "  But  who  were  the  three 
that  preceded  him?" 

"  Governor  Dudley,  a  cunning  politician  —  yet  his 
craft  once  brought  him  to  a  prison,"  replied  Colonel 
Joliffe.  "  Governor  Shute,  formerly  a  Colonel  under 
Marlborough,  and  whom  the  people  frightened  out  of 
the  province;  and  learned  Governor  Bui-net,  whom 
the  legislature  tormented  into  a  mortal  fever." 

"Methinks  they  were  miserable  men,  these  royal 
governors  of  Massachusetts,"  observed  Miss  Joliffe. 
"  Heavens,  how  dim  the  light  grows !  " 

It  was  certainly  a  fact  that  the  large  lamp  which 
iUuminated  the  staircase  now  burned  dim  and  dusk 
ily  :  so  that  several  figures,  which  passed  hastily  down 
the  stairs  and  went  forth  from  the  porch,  appeared 
rather  like  shadows  than  persons  of  fleshly  substance. 
Sir  William  Howe  and  his  guests  stood  at  the  doors 
of  the  contiguous  apartments,  watching  the  progress 
of  this  singular  pageant,  with  various  emotions  of 
anger,  contempt,  or  half-acknowledged  fear,  but  still 
with  an  anxious  curiosity.  The  shapes  which  now 
seemed  hastening  to  join  the  mysterious  procession 
were  recognized  rather  by  striking  peculiarities  of 
dress,  or  broad  characteristics  of  manner,  than  by  any 
perceptible  resemblance  of  features  to  their  proto 
types.  Their  faces,  indeed,  were  invariably  kept  in 
deep  shadow.  But  Doctor  Byles,  and  other  gentle 
men  who  had  long  been  familiar  with  the  successive 


286  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

rulers  of  the  province,  were  heard  to  whisper  the 
names  of  Shirley,  of  Pownall,  of  Sir  Francis  Bernard, 
and  of  the  well-remembered  Hutchinson ;  thereby  con 
fessing  that  the  actors,  whoever  they  might  be,  in  this 
spectral  march  of  governors,  had  succeeded  in  putting 
on  some  distant  portraiture  of  the  real  personages. 
As  they  vanished  from  the  door,  still  did  these  shad 
ows  toss  their  arms  into  the  gloom  of  night,  with  a 
dread  expression  of  woe.  Following  the  mimic  repre 
sentative  of  Hutchinson  came  a  military  figure,  hold 
ing  before  his  face  the  cocked  hat  which  he  had  taken 
from  his  powdered  head ;  but  his  epaulettes  and  other 
insignia  of  rank  were  those  of  a  general  officer,  and 
something  in  his  mien  reminded  the  beholders  of  one 
who  had  recently  been  master  of  the  Province  House, 
and  chief  of  all  the  land. 

"  The  shape  of  Gage,  as  true  as  in  a  looking-glass," 
exclaimed  Lord  Percy,  turning  pale. 

"No,  surely,'9  cried  Miss  Joliffe,  laughing  hysteric 
ally ;  "it  could  not  be  Gage,  or  Sir  William  would 
have  greeted  his  old  comrade  in  arms !  Perhaps  he 
will  not  suffer  the  next  to  pass  unchallenged." 

"  Of  that  be  assured,  young  lady,"  answered  Sir 
William  Howe,  fixing  his  eyes,  with  a  very  marked 
expression,  upon  the  immovable  visage  of  her  grand 
father.  "  I  have  long  enough  delayed  to  pay  the  cere 
monies  of  a  host  to  these  departing  guests.  The  next 
that  takes  his  leave  shall  receive  due  courtesy." 

A  wild  and  dreary  burst  of  music  came  through  the 
open  door.  It  seemed  as  if  the  procession,  which  had 
been  gradually  filling  up  its  ranks,  were  now  about  to 
move,  and  that  this  loud  peal  of  the  wailing  trumpets, 
and  roll  of  the  muffled  drums,  were  a  call  to  some 
loiterer  to  make  haste.  Many  eyes,  by  an  irresistible 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  287 

Impulse,  were  turned  upon  Sir  William  Howe,  as  if 
it  were  he  whom  the  dreary  music  summoned  to  the 
funeral  of  departed  power. 

"  See  !  —  here  comes  the  last !  "  whispered  Miss 
Joliffe,  pointing  her  tremulous  finger  to  the  staircase. 

A  figure  had  come  into  view  as  if  descending  the 
stairs ;  although  so  dusky  was  the  region  whence  it 
emerged,  some  of  the  spectators  fancied  that  they  had 
seen  this  human  shape  suddenly  moidding  itself  amid 
the  gloom.  Downward  the  figure  came,  with  a  stately 
and  martial  tread,  and  reaching  the  lowest  stair  was 
observed  to  be  a  tall  man,  booted  and  wrapped  in  a 
military  cloak,  which  was  drawn  up  around  the  face 
so  as  to  meet  the  flapped  brim  of  a  laced  hat.  The 
features,  therefore,  were  completely  hidden.  But  the 
British  officers  deemed  that  they  had  seen  that  mili 
tary  cloak  before,  and  even  recognized  the  frayed  em 
broidery  on  the  collar,  as  well  as  the  gilded  scabbard 
of  a  sword  which  protruded  from  the  folds  of  the 
cloak,  and  glittered  in  a  vivid  gleam  of  light.  Apart 
from  these  trifling  particulars,  there  were  characteris 
tics  of  gait  and  bearing  which  impelled  the  wondering 
guests  to  glance  from  the  shrouded  figure  to  Sir  Wil 
liam  Howe,  as  if  to  satisfy  themselves  that  their  host 
had  not  suddenly  vanished  from  the  midst  of  them. 

With  a  dark  flush  of  wrath  upon  his  brow  they  saw 
the  General  draw  Ms  sword  and  advance  to  meet  the 
figure  in  the  cloak  before  the  latter  had  stepped  one 
pace  upon  the  floor. 

"  Villain,  unmuffle  yourself  ! '  cried  he.  "  You  pass 
no  farther !  " 

The  figure,  without  blenching  a  hair's  breadth  from 
the  sword  which  was  pointed  at  his  breast,  made  a 
solemn  pause  and  lowered  the  cape  of  the  cloak  from 


288  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

about  his  face,  yet  not  sufficiently  for  the  spectators 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  it.  But  Sir  William  Howe  had 
evidently  seen  enough.  The  sternness  of  his  counte 
nance  gave  place  to  a  look  of  wild  amazement,  if  not 
horror,  while  he  recoiled  several  steps  from  the  figure, 
and  let  fall  his  sword  upon  the  floor.  The  martial 
shape  again  drew  the  cloak  about  his  features  and 
passed  on ;  but  reaching  the  threshold,  with  his  back 
towards  the  spectators,  he  was  seen  to  stamp  his  foot 
and  shake  his  clinched  hands  in  the  air.  It  was  after 
wards  affirmed  that  Sir  William  Howe  had  repeated 
that  selfsame  gesture  of  rage  and  sorrow,  when,  for 
the  last  time,  and  as  the  last  royal  governor,  he  passed 
through  the  portal  of  the  Province  House. 

"  Hark !  — the  procession  moves,"  said  Miss  Joliffe. 

The  music  was  dying  away  along  the  street,  and  its 
dismal  strains  were  mingled  with  the  knell  of  mid 
night  from  the  steeple  of  the  Old  South,  and  with  the 
roar  of  artillery,  which  announced  that  the  beleaguer 
ing  army  of  Washington  had  intrenched  itself  upon 
a  nearer  height  than  before.  As  the  deep  boom  of  the 
cannon  smote  upon  his  ear,  Colonel  Joliffe  raised  him 
self  to  the  full  height  of  his  aged  form,  and  smiled 
sternly  on  the  British  General. 

"  Would  your  Excellency  inquire  further  into  the 
mystery  of  the  pageant  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Take  care  of  your  gray  head  !  "  cried  Sir  William 
Howe,  fiercely,  though  with  a  quivering  lip.  "  It  has 
stood  too  long  on  a  traitor's  shoulders !  " 

"  You  must  make  haste  to  chop  it  off,  then,"  calmly 
replied  the  Colonel ;  "  for  a  few  hours  longer,  and  not 
all  the  power  of  Sir  William  Howe,  nor  of  his  master, 
shall  cause  one  of  these  gray  hairs  to  fall.  The  em 
pire  of  Britain  in  this  ancient  province  is  at  its  last 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE.  289 

gasp  to-night ;  —  almost  while  I  speak  it  is  a  dead 
corpse ;  —  and  methinks  the  shadows  of  the  old  gov 
ernors  are  fit  mourners  at  its  funeral !  " 

With  these  words  Colonel  Joliffe  threw  on  his  cloak, 
and  drawing  his  granddaughter's  arm  within  his  own, 
retired  from  the  last  festival  that  a  British  ruler  ever 
held  in  the  old  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  It 
was  supposed  that  the  Colonel  and  the  young  lady 
possessed  some  secret  intelligence  in  regard  to  the 
mysterious  pageant  of  that  night.  However  this  might 
be,  such  knowledge  has  never  become  general.  The 
actors  in  the  scene  have  vanished  into  deeper  obscur 
ity  than  even  that  wild  Indian  band  who  scattered  the 
cargoes  of  the  tea  ships  on  the  waves,  and  gained  a 
place  in  history,  yet  left  no  names.  But  superstition, 
among  other  legends  of  this  mansion,  repeats  the  won 
drous  tale,  that  on  the  anniversary  night  of  Britain's 
discomfiture  the  ghosts  of  the  ancient  governors  of 
Massachusetts  still  glide  through  the  portal  of  the 
Province  House.  And,  last  of  all,  comes  a  figure 
shrouded  in  a  military  cloak,  tossing  his  clinched 
hands  into  the  air,  and  stamping  his  iron-shod  boots 
upon  the  broad  freestone  steps,  with  a  semblance  of 
feverish  despair,  but  without  the  sound  of  a  foot-tramp. 


When  the  truth-telling  accents  of  the  elderly  gentle 
man  were  hushed,  I  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
round  the  room,  striving,  with  the  best  energy  of  my 
imagination,  to  throw  a  tinge  of  romance  and  historic 
grandeur  over  the  realities  of  the  scene.  But  my 
nostrils  snuffed  up  a  scent  of  cigar  smoke,  clouds  of 
which  the  narrator  had  emitted  by  way  of  visible  em 
blem,  I  suppose,  of  the  nebulous  obscurity  of  his  tale. 

VOL.    I  19 


290  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Moreover,  my  gorgeous  fantasies  were  wofully  dis 
turbed  by  the  rattling  of  the  spoon  in  a  tumbler  of 
whiskey  punch,  which  Mr.  Thomas  Waite  was  min 
gling  for  a  customer.  Nor  did  it  add  to  the  pictur 
esque  appearance  of  the  panelled  walls  that  the  slate 
of  the  Brookline  stage  was  suspended  against  them, 
instead  of  the  armorial  escutcheon  of  some  far-de 
scended  governor.  A  stage-driver  sat  at  one  of  the 
windows,  reading  -  a  penny  paper  of  the  day  —  the 
Boston  Times  —  and  presenting  a  figure  which  could 
nowise  be  brought  into  any  picture  of  "  Times  in  Bos 
ton  "  seventy  or  a  hundred  years  ago.  On  the  win 
dow  seat  lay  a  bundle,  neatly  done  up  in  brown  paper, 
the  direction  of  which  I  had  the  idle  curiosity  to  read. 
44  Miss  SUSAN  HUGGINS,  at  the  PROVINCE  HOUSE." 
A  pretty  chambermaid,  no  doubt.  In  truth,  it  is  des 
perately  hard  work,  when  we  attempt  to  throw  the 
spell  of  hoar  antiquity  over  localities  with  which  the 
living  world,  and  the  day  that  is  passing  over  us,  have 
aught  to  do.  Yet,  as  I  glanced  at  the  stately  stair 
case  down  which  the  procession  of  the  old  governors 
had  descended,  and  as  I  emerged  through  the  vener 
able  portal  whence  their  figures  had  preceded  me,  it 
gladdened  me  to  be  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  awe. 
Then,  diving  through  the  narrow  archway,  a  few- 
strides  transported  me  into  the  densest  throng  of 
Washington  Street. 


• 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   PROVINCE   HOUSE. 

n. 

EDWARD   RANDOLPH'S   PORTRAIT. 

THE  old  legendary  guest  of  the  Province  House 
abode  in  my  remembrance  from  midsummer  till  Janu 
ary.  One  idle  evening  last  winter,  confident  that  he 
would  be  found  in  the  snuggest  corner  of  the  bar 
room,  I  resolved  to  pay  him  another  visit,  hoping  to 
deserve  well  of  my  country  by  snatching  from  oblivion 
some  else  unheard-of  fact  of  history.  The  night  was 
chill  and  raw,  and  rendered  boisterous  by  almost  a 
gale  of  wind,  which  whistled  along  Washington  Street, 
causing  the  gas-lights  to  flare  and  flicker  within  the 
lamps.  As  I  hurried  onward,  my  fancy  was  busy  with 
a  comparison  between  the  present  aspect  of  the  street 
and  that  which  it  probably  wore  when  the  British  gov 
ernors  inhabited  the  mansion  whither  I  was  now  going. 
Brick  edifices  in  those  times  were  few,  till  a  succession 
of  destructive  fires  had  swept,  and  swept  again,  the 
wooden  dwellings  and  warehouses  from  the  most  pop 
ulous  quarters  of  the  town.  The  buildings  stood  in 
sidated  and  independent,  not,  as  now,  merging  their 
separate  existences  into  connected  ranges,  with  a  front 
of  tiresome  identity,  —  but  each  possessing  features  of 
its  own,  as  if  the  owner's  individual  taste  had  shaped 
it,  —  and  the  whole  presenting  a  picturesque  irregular 
ity,  the  absence  of  which  is  hardly  compensated  by  any 
beauties  of  our  modern  architecture.  Such  a  scene. 


292  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

dimly  vanishing  from  the  eye  by  the  ray  of  here  and 
there  a  tallow  candle,  glimmering  through  the  small 
panes  of  scattered  windows,  would  form  a  sombre  con 
trast  to  the  street  as  I  beheld  it,  with  the  gas-lights 
blazing  from  corner  to  corner,  flaming  within  the  shops, 
and  throwing  a  noonday  brightness  through  the  huge 
plates  of  glass. 

But  the  black,  lowering  sky,  as  I  turned  my  eyes 
upward,  wore,  doubtless,  the  same  visage  as  when  it 
frowned  upon  the  ante-revolutionary  New  Englanders. 
The  wintry  blast  had  the  same  shriek  that  was  familiar 
to  their  ears.  The  Old  South  Church,  too,  still  pointed 
its  antique  spire  into  the  darkness,  and  was  lost  be 
tween  earth  and  heaven ;  and  as  I  passed,  its  clock, 
which  had  warned  so  many  generations  how  transitory 
was  their  lifetime,  spoke  heavily  and  slow  the  same 
unregarded  moral  to  myself.  "  Only  seven  o'clock," 
thought  I.  "  My  old  friend's  legends  will  scarcely 
kill  the  hours  'twixt  this  and  bedtime." 

Passing  through  the  narrow  arch,  I  crossed  the  court 
yard,  the  confined  precincts  of  which  were  made  visi 
ble  by  a  lantern  over  the  portal  of  the  Province  House. 
On  entering  the  bar-room,  I  found,  as  I  expected,  the 
old  tradition  monger  seated  by  a  special  good  fire  of 
anthracite,  compelling  clouds  of  smoke  from  a  corpu 
lent  cigar.  He  recognized  me  with  evident  pleasure  ; 
for  my  rare  properties  as  a  patient  listener  invariably 
make  me  a  favorite  with  elderly  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  narrative  propensities.  Drawing  a  chair  to  the  fire, 
I  desired  mine  host  to  favor  us  with  a  glass  apiece  of 
whiskey  punch,  which  was  speedily  prepared,  steaming 
hot,  with  a  slice  of  lemon  at  the  bottom,  a  dark-red 
stratum  of  port  wine  upon  the  surface,  and  a  sprjnk- 
ling  of  nutmeg  strewn  over  all.  As  we  touched  oui 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        293 

glasses  together,  my  legendary  friend  made  himself 
known  to  me  as  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany  ;  and  I  rejoiced  at 
the  oddity  of  the  name,  because  it  gave  his  image  and 
character  a  sort  of  individuality  in  my  conception. 
The  old  gentleman's  draught  acted  as  a  solvent  upon 
his  memory,  so  that  it  overflowed  with  tales,  traditions, 
anecdotes  of  famous  dead  people,  and  traits  of  ancient 
manners,  some  of  which  were  childish  as  a  nurse's  lul 
laby,  while  others  might  have  been  worth  the  notice  of 
the  grave  historian.  Nothing  impressed  me  more  than 
a  story  of  a  black  mysterious  picture,  which  used  to 
hang  in  one  of  the  chambers  of  the  Province  House, 
directly  above  the  room  where  we  were  now  sitting. 
The  following  is  as  correct  a  version  of  the  fact  as  the 
reader  would  be  likely  to  obtain  from  any  other  source, 
although,  assuredly,  it  has  a  tinge  of  romance  approach 
ing  to  the  marvellous. 


In  one  of  the  apartments  of  the  Province  House 
there  was  long  preserved  an  ancient  picture,  the  frame 
of  which  was  as  black  as  ebony,  and  the  canvas  itself 
so  dark  with  age,  damp,  and  smoke,  that  not  a  touch 
of  the  painter's  art  could  be  discerned.  Time  had 
thrown  an  impenetrable  veil  over  it,  and  left  to  tradi 
tion  and  fable  and  conjecture  to  say  what  had  once 
been  there  portrayed.  During  the  ride  of  many  suc 
cessive  governors,  it  had  hung,  by  prescriptive  and 
undisputed  right,  over  the  mantel-piece  of  the  same 
chamber  ;  and  it  still  kept  its  place  when  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Hutchinson  assumed  the  administration  of 
the  province,  on  the  departure  of  Sir  Francis  Bernard. 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  sat,  one  afternoon,  resting 
his  head  against  the  carved  back  of  his  stately  arm- 


294  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

chair,  and  gazing  up  thoughtfully  at  the  void  blackness 
of  the  picture.  It  was  scarcely  a  time  for  such  inactive 
musing,  when  affairs  of  the  deepest  moment  required 
the  ruler's  decision  ;  for,  within  that  very  hour  Hutch- 
inson  had  received  intelligence  of  the  arrival  of  a 
British  fleet,  bringing  three  regiments  from  Halifax 
to  overawe  the  insubordination  of  the  people.  These 
troops  awaited  his  permission  to  occupy  the  fortress  of 
Castle  William,  and  the  town  itself.  Yet,  instead  of 
affixing  his  signature  to  an  official  order,  there  sat  the 
Lieutenant-Go vernor,  so  carefully  scrutinizing  the  black 
waste  of  canvas  that  his  demeanor  attracted  the  notice 
of  two  young  persons  who  attended  him.  One,  wearing 
a  military  dress  of  buff,  was  his  kinsman,  Francis  Lin 
coln,  the  Provincial  Captain  of  Castle  William ;  the 
other,  who  sat  on  a  low  stool  beside  his  chair,  was 
Alice  Yane,  his  favorite  niece. 

She  was  clad  entirely  in  white,  a  pale,  ethereal 
creature,  who,  though  a  native  of  New  England,  had 
been  educated  abroad,  and  seemed  not  merely  a  stranger 
from  another  clime,  but  almost  a  being  from  another 
world.  For  several  years,  until  left  an  orphan,  she  had 
dwelt  with  her  father  in  sunny  Italy,  and  there  had  ac 
quired  a  taste  and  enthusiasm  for  sculpture  and  paint 
ing  which  she  found  few  opportunities  of  gratifying 
in  the  undecorated  dwellings  of  the  colonial  gentry. 
It  was  said  that  the  early  productions  of  her  own  pen 
cil  exhibited  no  inferior  genius,  though,  perhaps,  the 
rude  atmosphere  of  New  England  had  cramped  her 
hand,  and  dimmed  the  glowing  colors  of  her  fancy. 
But  observing  her  uncle's  steadfast  gaze,  which  ap 
peared  to  search  through  the  mist  of  years  to  discover 
the  subject  of  the  picture,  her  curiosity  was  excited. 

"  Is  it  known,  my  dear  uncle,"  inquired  she,  "  what 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        295 

this  old  picture  once  represented  ?  Possibly,  could  it 
be  ,made  visible,  it  might  prove  a  masterpiece  of  some 
great  artist  —  else,  why  has  it  so  long  held  such  a  con 
spicuous  place  ? " 

As  her  uncle,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom  (for  he 
was  as  attentive  to  all  the  humors  and  caprices  of 
Alice  as  if  she  had  been  his  own  best-beloved  child), 
did  not  immediately  reply,  the  young  Captain  of  Cas 
tle  AVilliam  took  that  office  upon  himself. 

"  This  dark  old  square  of  canvas,  my  fair  cousin," 
said  he,  "  has  been  an  heirloom  in  the  Province  House 
from  time  immemorial.  As  to  the  painter,  I  can  tell 
you  nothing ;  but,  if  half  the  stories  told  of  it  be  true, 
not  one  of  the  great  Italian  masters  has  ever  produced 
so  marvellous  a  piece  of  work  as  that  before  you.'' 

Captain  Lincoln  proceeded  to  relate  some  of  the 
strange  fables  and  fantasies  which,  as  it  was  impossi 
ble  to  refute  them  by  ocular  demonstration,  had  grown 
to  be  articles  of  popular  belief,  in  reference  to  this 
old  picture.  One  of  the  wildest,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  best  accredited,  accounts,  stated  it  to  be  an  origi 
nal  and  authentic  portrait  of  the  Evil  One,  taken  at  a 
witch  meeting  near  Salem ;  and  that  its  strong  and 
terrible  resemblance  had  been  confirmed  by  several  of 
the  confessing  wizards  and  witches,  at  their  trial,  in 
open  court.  It  was  likewise  affirmed  that  a  familiar 
spirit  or  demon  abode  behind  the  blackness  of  the 
picture,  and  had  shown  himself,  at  seasons  of  public 
calamity,  to  more  than  one  of  the  royal  governors. 
Shirley,  for  instance,  had  beheld  this  ominous  appari 
tion,  on  the  eve  of  General  Abercrombie's  shameful 
and  bloody  defeat  under  the  walls  of  Ticonderoga. 
Many  of  the  servants  of  the  Province  House  had 
caught  glimpses  of  a  visage  frcwning  down  upon  them. 


296  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

at  morning  or  evening  twilight,  —  or  in  the  depths  of 
night,  while  raking  up  the  fire  that  glimmered  on  the 
hearth  beneath ;  although,  if  any  were  bold  enough  to 
hold  a  torch  before  the  picture,  it  would  appear  as 
black  and  undistinguishable  as  ever.  The  oldest  in 
habitant  of  Boston  recollected  that  his  father,  in  whose 
days  the  portrait  nad  not  wholly  faded  out  of  sight, 
had  once  looked  upon  it,  but  would  never  suffer  him 
self  to  be  questioned  as  to  the  face  which  was  there 
represented.  In  connection  with  such  stories,  it  was 
remarkable  that  over  the  top  of  the  frame  there  were 
some  ragged  remnants  of  black  silk,  indicating  that  a 
veil  had  formerly  hung  down  before  the  picture,  until 
the  duskiness  of  time  had  so  effectually  concealed  it. 
But,  after  all,  it  was  the  most  singular  part  of  the 
affair  that  so  many  of  the  pompous  governors  of  Mas 
sachusetts  had  allowed  the  obliterated  picture  to  re 
main  in  the  state  chamber  of  the  Province  House. 

"  Some  of  these  fables  are  really  awful,"  observed 
Alice  Vane,  who  had  occasionally  shuddered,  as  well 
as  smiled,  while  her  cousin  spoke.  "  It  would  be  al 
most  worth  while  to  wipe  away  the  black  surface  of 
the  canvas,  since  the  original  picture  can  hardly  be  so 
formidable  as  those  which  fancy  paints  instead  of  it." 

"  But  would  it  be  possible,"  inquired  her  cousin, 
"  to  restore  this  dark  picture  to  its  pristine  hues?  " 

"  Such  arts  are  known  in  Italy,"  said  Alice. 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  had  roused  himself  from 
his  abstracted  mood,  and  listened  with  a  smile  to  the 
conversation  of  his  young  relatives.  Yet  his  voice 
had  something  peculiar  in  its  tones  when  he  under 
took  the  explanation  of  the  mystery. 

"I  am  sorry,  Alice,  to  destroy  your  faith  in 'the 
legends  of  which  you  are  so  fond,"  remarked  he  ;  "  but 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        297 

my  antiquarian  researches  have  long  since  made  me 
acquainted  with  the  subject  of  this  picture — if  picture 
it  can  be  called  —  which  is  no  more  visible,  nor  ever 
will  be,  than  the  face  of  the  long  buried  man  whom 
it  once  represented.  It  was  the  portrait  of  Edward 
Randolph,  the  founder  of  this  house,  a  person  famous 
in  the  history  of  New  England." 

uOf  that  Edward  Randolph,"  exclaimed  Captain 
Lincoln,  "  who  obtained  the  repeal  of  the  first  pro 
vincial  charter,  under  which  our  forefathers  had  en- 
joved  almost  democratic  privileges !  He  that  was 
styled  the  arch-enemy  of  New  England,  and  whose 
memory  is  still  held  in  detestation  as  the  destroyer  of 
our  liberties !  " 

"It  was  the  same  Randolph,"  answered  Hutchin- 
son,  moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  It  was  his  lot  to 
taste  the  bitterness  of  popular  odium." 

"  Our  annals  tell  us,"  continued  the  Captain  of 
Castle  William,  "  that  the  curse  of  the  people  fol 
lowed  this  Randolph  where  he  went,  and  wrought  evil 
in  all  the  subsequent  events  of  his  life,  and  that  its 
effect  was  seen  likewise  in  the  manner  of  his  death. 
They  say,  too,  that  the  inward  misery  of  that  curse 
worked  itself  outward,  and  was  visible  on  the  wretched 
man's  countenance,  making  it  too  horrible  to  be  looked 
upon.  If  so,  and  if  this  picture  truly  represented  his 
aspect,  it  wras  in  mercy  that  the  cloud  of  blackness 
has  gathered  over  it." 

"  These  traditions  are  folly  to  one  who  has  proved, 
as  I  have,  how  little  of  historic  truth  lies  at  the  bot 
tom,"  said  the  Lieutenant-Governor.  "  As  regards 
the  life  and  character  of  Edward  Randolph,  too  im 
plicit  credence  has  been  given  to  Dr.  Cotton  Mather, 
who  —  I  must  say  it,  though  some  of  his  blood  runs 


298  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

in  my  veins  —  has  filled  our  early  history  with  old 
women's  tales,  as  fanciful  and  extravagant  as  those  of 
Greece  or  Rome." 

"  And  yet,"  whispered  Alice  Yane,  "  may  not  such 
fables  have  a  moral?  And,  methinks,  if  the  visage 
of  this  portrait  be  so  dreadful,  it  is  not  without  a 
cause  that  it  has  hung  so  long  in  a  chamber  of  the 
Province  House.  When  the  rulers  feel  themselves 
irresponsible,  it  were  well  that  they  should  be  re 
minded  of  the  awful  weight  of  a  people's  curse." 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  started,  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  at  his  niece,  as  if  her  girlish  fantasies  had 
struck  upon  some  feeling  in  his  own  breast,  which  all 
his  policy  or  principles  could  not  entirely  subdue. 
He  knew,  indeed,  that  Alice,  in  spite  of  her  foreign 
education,  retained  the  native  sympathies  of  a  New 
England  girl. 

"  Peace,  silly  child,"  cried  he,  at  last,  more  harshly 
than  he  had  ever  before  addressed  the  gentle  Alice. 
"  The  rebuke  of  a  king  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than 
the  clamor  of  a  wild,  misguided  multitude.  Captain 
Lincoln,  it  is  decided.  The  fortress  of  Castle  Wil 
liam  must  be  occupied  by  the  royal  troops.  The  two 
remaining  regiments  shall  be  billeted  in  the  town,  or 
encamped  upon  the  Common.  It  is  time,  after  years 
of  tumult,  and  almost  rebellion,  that  his  majesty's  gov 
ernment  should  have  a  wall  of  strength  about  it." 

"  Trust,  sir  —  trust  yet  awhile  to  the  loyalty  of  the 
people,"  said  Captain  Lincoln  ;  "  nor  teach  them  that 
they  can  ever  be  on  other  terms  with  British  soldiers 
than  those  of  brotherhood,  as  when  they  fought  side 
by  side  through  the  French  War.  Do  not  convert  the 
streets  of  your  native  town  into  a  camp.  Think  twice 
before  you  give  up  old  Castle  William,  the  key  oi 


EDWARD   RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        299 

the  province,  into  other  keeping  than  that  of  true-born 
New  Englanders." 

"  Young  man,  it  is  decided,"  repeated  Hutchinson, 
rising  from  his  chair.  "  A  British  officer  will  be  in 
attendance  this  evening,  to  receive  the  necessary  in 
structions  for  the  disposal  of  the  troops.  Your  pres 
ence  also  will  be  required.  Till  then,  farewell." 

With  these  words  the  Lieutenant-Go vernor  hastily 
left  the  room,  while  Alice  and  her  cousin  more  slowly 
followed,  whispering  together,  and  once  pausing  to 
glance  back  at  the  mysterious  picture.  The  Captain 
of  Castle  William  fancied  that  the  girl's  air  and  mien 
were  such  as  might  have  belonged  to  one  of  those 
spirits  of  fable  —  fairies,  or  creatures  of  a  more  antique 
mythology  —  who  sometimes  mingled  their  agency 
with  mortal  affairs,  half  in  caprice,  yet  with  a  sensi 
bility  to  human  weal  or  woe.  As  he  held  the  door  for 
her  to  pass,  Alice  beckoned  to  the  picture  and  smiled. 

"  Come  forth,  dark  and  evil  Shape ! "  cried  she. 
"  It  is  thine  hour  !  " 

In  the  evening,  Lieutenant-Governor  Hutchinson 
sat  in  the  same  chamber  wrhere  the  foregoing  scene 
had  occurred,  surrounded  by  several  persons  whose 
various  interests  had  summoned  them  together.  There 
were  the  Selectmen  of  Boston,  plain,  patriarchal  fa 
thers  of  the  people,  excellent  representatives  of  the 
old  puritanical  founders,  whose  sombre  strength  had 
stamped  so  deep  an  impress  upon  the  New  England 
character.  Contrasting  with  these  were  one  or  two 
members  of  Council,  richly  dressed  in  the  white  wigs, 
the  embroidered  waistcoats  and  other  magnificence  of 
the  time,  and  making  a  somewhat  ostentatious  display 
of  courtier-like  ceremonial.  In  attendance,  likewise, 
was  a  major  of  the  British  army,  awaiting  the  Lieu- 


300  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

tenant-Governor's  orders  for  the  landing  of  the  troops, 
which  still  remained  on  board  the  transports.  The 
Captain  of  Castle  William  stood  beside  Hutchinson's 
chair  with  folded  arms,  glancing  rather  haughtily  at 
the  British  officer,  by  whom  he  was  soon  to  be  super 
seded  in  his  command.  On  a  table,  in  the  centre  of 
the  chamber,  stood  a  branched  silver  candlestick, 
throwing  down  the  glow  of  half  a  dozen  wax-lights 
upon  a  paper  apparently  ready  for  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor's  signature. 

Partly  shrouded  in  the  voluminous  folds  of  one  of 
the  window  curtains,  which  fell  from  the  ceiling  10 
the  floor,  was  seen  the  white  drapery  of  a  lady's  robe. 
It  may  appear  strange  that  Alice  Vane  should  have 
been  there  at  such  a  time ;  but  there  was  something 
so  childlike,  so  wayward,  in  her  singular  character,  so 
apart  from  ordinary  rules,  that  her  presence  did  not 
surprise  the  few  who  noticed  it.  Meantime,  the  chair 
man  of  the  Selectmen  was  addressing  to  the  Lieuten 
ant-Go  vernor  a  long  and  solemn  protest  against  the 
reception  of  the  British  troops  into  the  town. 

"  And  if  your  Honor,"  concluded  this  excellent  but 
somewhat  prosy  old  gentleman,  "  shall  see  fit  to  per 
sist  in  bringing  these  mercenary  sworders  and  mus 
keteers  into  our  quiet  streets,  not  on  our  heads  be  the 
responsibility.  Think,  sir,  while  there  is  yet  time, 
that  if  one  drop  of  blood  be  shed,  that  blood  shall  be 
an  eternal  stain  upon  your  Honor's  memory.  You, 
sir,  have  written  with  an  able  pen  the  deeds  of  our 
forefathers.  The  more  to  be  desired  is  it,  therefore, 
that  yourself  should  deserve  honorable  mention,  as  a 
true  patriot  and  upright  ruler,  when  your  own  doings 
lhall  be  written  down  in  history."  -./«.- 

"  I  am  not  insensible,  my  good  sir,  to  the  natural 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        301 

desire  to  stand  well  in  the  annals  of  my  country,'' 
replied  Hutchinson,  controlling  his  impatience  into 
courtesy,  "  nor  know  I  any  better  method  of  attaining 
that  end  than  by  withstanding  the  merely  temporary 
spirit  of  mischief,  which,  with  your  pardon,  seems  to 
have  infected  elder  men  than  myself.  Would  you 
have  me  wait  till  the  mob  shall  sack  the  Province 
House,  as  they  did  my  private  mansion  ?  Trust  me, 
sir,  the  time  may  come  when  you  will  be  glad  to  flee 
for  protection  to  the  king's  banner,  the  raising  of 
which  is  now  so  distasteful  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  British  major,  who  was  impatiently 
expecting  the  Lieutenant-Governors  orders.  "The 
demagogues  of  this  Province  have  raised  the  devil 
and  cannot  lay  him  again.  We  will  exorcise  him, 
in  God's  name  and  the  king's." 

"  If  you  meddle  with  the  devil,  take  care  of  his 
claws ! "  answered  the  Captain  of  Castle  William, 
stirred  by  the  taunt  against  his  countrymen. 

"  Craving  your  pardon,  young  sir,"  said  the  ven 
erable  Selectman,  "  let  not  an  evil  spirit  enter  into 
your  words.  We  will  strive  against  the  oppressor 
with  prayer  and  fasting,  as  our  forefathers  would  have 
done.  Like  them,  moreover,  we  will  submit  to  what 
ever  lot  a  wise  Providence  may  send  us,  —  always,  af 
ter  our  own  best  exertions  to  amend  it." 

"  And  there  peep  forth  the  devil's  claws !  "  muttered 
Hutchinson,  who  well  understood  the  nature  of  Puri 
tan  submission.  "This  matter  shall  be  expedited 
forthwith.  When  there  shall  be  a  sentinel  at  every 
corner,  and  a  court  of  guard  before  the  town  house,  a 
loyal  gentleman  may  venture  to  walk  abroad.  What 
to  me  is  the  outcry  of  a  mob,  in  this  remote  province 
of  the  realm  ?  The  king  is  my  master,  and  England 


302  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

is  my  country !  Upheld  by  their  armed  strength,  I 
set  my  foot  upon  the  rabble,  and  defy  them !  " 

He  snatched  a  pen,  and  was  about  to  affix  his  sig 
nature  to  the  paper  that  lay  on  the  table,  when  the 
Captain  of  Castle  William  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  The  freedom  of  the  action,  so  contrary  to 
the  ceremonious  respect  which  was  then  considered 
due  to  rank  and  dignity,  awakened  general  surprise, 
and  in  none  more  than  in  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
himself.  Looking  angrily  up,  he  perceived  that  his 
young  relative  was  pointing  his  finger  to  the  opposite 
wall.  Hutchinson's  eye  followed  the  signal ;  and  he 
saw,  what  had  hitherto  been  unobserved,  that  a  black 
silk  curtain  was  suspended  before  the  mysterious  pict 
ure,  so  as  completely  to  conceal  it.  His  thoughts  im 
mediately  recurred  to  the  scene  of  the  preceding  af 
ternoon  ;  and,  in  his  surprise,  confused  by  indistinct 
emotions,  yet  sensible  that  his  niece  must  have  had 
an  agency  in  this  phenomenon,  he  called  loudly  upon 
her. 

"  Alice !  — come  hither,  Alice! " 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  Alice  Vane  glided 
from  her  station,  and  pressing  one  hand  across  her 
eyes,  with  the  other  snatched  away  the  sable  curtain 
that  concealed  the  portrait.  An  exclamation  of  sur 
prise  burst  from  every  beholder ;  but  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor's  voice  had  a  tone  of  horror. 

"  By  Heaven !  "  said  lie,  in  a  low,  inward  murmur, 
speaking  rather  to  himself  than  to  those  around  him, 
"  if  the  spirit  of  Edward  Randolph  were  to  appear 
among  us  from  the  place  of  torment,  he  could  not 
wear  more  of  the  terrors  of  hell  upon  his  face  ! " 

"  For  some  wise  end,"  said  the  aged  Selectman,  sol 
emnly,  "hath  Providence  scattered  away  the  mist  of 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.         303 

years  that  had  so  long  hid  this  dreadful  effigy.  Until 
this  hour  no  living  man  hath  seen  what  we  behold  !  " 

Within  the  antique  frame,  which  so  recently  had 
inclosed  a  sable  waste  of  canvas,  now  appeared  a  visi 
ble  picture,  still  dark,  indeed,  in  its  hues  and  shadings, 
but  thrown  forward  in  strong  relief.  It  was  a  half- 
length  figure  of  a  gentleman  in  a  rich  but  very  old- 
fashioned  dress  of  embroidered  velvet,  with  a  broad 
ruff  and  a  beard,  and  wearing  a  hat,  the  brim  of  which 
overshadowed  his  forehead.  Beneath  this  cloud  the 
eyes  had  a  peculiar  glare,  which  was  almost  lifelike. 
The  whole  portrait  started  so  distinctly  out  of  the 
background,  that  it  had  the  effect  of  a  person  look 
ing  down  from  the  wall  at  the  astonished  and  awe- 
stricken  spectators.  The  expression  of  the  face,  if  any 
words  can  convey  an  idea  of  it,  was  that  of  a  wretch 
detected  in  some  hideous  guilt,  and  exposed  to  the 
bitter  hatred  and  laughter  and  withering  scorn  of  a 
vast  surrounding  multitude.  There  was  the  struggle  of 
defiance,  beaten  down  and  overwhelmed  by  the  crush 
ing  weight  of  ignominy.  The  torture  of  the  soul  had 
come  forth  upon  the  countenance.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  picture,  while  hidden  behind  the  cloud  of  imme 
morial  years,  had  been  all  the  time  acquiring  an  in- 
tenser  depth  and  darkness  of  expression,  till  now  it 
gloomed  forth  again,  and  threw  its  evil  omen  over  the 
present  hour.  Such,  if  the  wild  legend  may  be  cred 
ited,  was  the  portrait  of  Edward  Randolph,  as  he  ap 
peared  when  a  people's  curse  had  wrought  its  influence 
upon  his  nature. 

"*  "T  would  drive  me  mad — that  awful  face!*'  said 
Hutchinson,  who  seemed  fascinated  by  the  contempla 
tion  of  it. 

"  Be  warned,  then !  "  whispered  Alice.     "  He  tram- 


304  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

pled  on  a  people's  rights.  Behold  his  punishment  — 
and  avoid  a  crime  like  his !  " 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  actually  trembled  for  an 
instant ;  but,  exerting  his  energy  —  which  was  not, 
however,  his  most  characteristic  feature  —  he  strove  to 
shake  off  the  spell  of  Randolph's  countenance. 

"  Girl !  "  cried  he,  laughing  bitterly  as  he  turned 
to  Alice,  "  have  you  brought  hither  your  painter's  art 
—  your  Italian  spirit  of  intrigue  —  your  tricks  of 
stage  effect  —  and  think  to  influence  the  councils  of 
rulers  and  the  affairs  of  nations  by  such  shallow  con 
trivances?  See  here ! " 

"  Stay  yet  a  while,"  said  the  Selectman,  as  Hutch- 
inson  again  snatched  the  pen  ;  "  for  if  ever  mortal 
man  received  a  warning  from  a  tormented  soul,  your 
Honor  is  that  man !  " 

"  Away !  "  answered  Hutchinson  fiercely.  "  Though 
yonder  senseless  picture  cried  4  Forbear ! '  —  it  should 
not  move  me  !  " 

Casting  a  scowl  of  defiance  at  the  pictured  face 
(which  seemed  at  that  moment  to  intensify  the  horror 
of  its  miserable  and  wicked  look),  he  scrawled  on  the 
paper,  in  characters  that  betokened  it  a  deed  of  des 
peration,  the  name  of  Thomas  Hutchinson.  Then,  it 
is  said,  he  shuddered,  as  if  that  signature  had  granted 
away  his  salvation. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  he ;  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
brow. 

"  May  Heaven  forgive  the  deed,"  said  the  soft,  sad 
accents  of  Alice  Vane,  like  the  voice  of  a  good  spirit 
flitting  away. 

When  morning  came  there  was  a  stifled  whisper 
through  the  household,  and  spreading  thence  about 
the  town,  that  the  dark,  mysterious  picture  had  started 


EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT.        305 

from  the  wall,  and  spoken  face  to  face  with  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Hutchinson.  If  such  a  miracle  had  been 
wrought,  however,  no  traces  of  it  remained  behind,  for 
within  the  antique  frame  nothing  could  be  discerned 
save  the  impenetrable  cloud,  which  had  covered  the 
canvas  since  the  memory  of  man.  If  the  figure  had, 
indeed,  stepped  forth,  it  had  fled  back,  spirit-like,  at 
the  daydawn,  and  hidden  itself  behind  a  century's  ob 
scurity.  The  truth  probably  was,  that  Alice  Vane's 
secret  for  restoring  the  hues  of  the  picture  had  merely 
effected  a  temporary  renovation.  But  those  who,  in 
that  brief  interval,  had  beheld  the  awful  visage  of  Ed 
ward  Randolph,  desired  no  second  glance,  and  evei- 
afterwards  trembled  at  the  recollection  of  the  scene, 
as  if  an  evil  spirit  had  appeared  visibly  among  them. 
And  as  for  Hutchinson,  when,  far  over  the  ocean,  his 
dying  hour  drew  on,  he  gasped  for  breath,  and  com 
plained  that  he  was  choking  with  the  blood  of  the 
Boston  Massacre ;  and  Francis  Lincoln,  the  former 
Captain  of  Castle  William,  who  was  standing  at  his 
bedside,  perceived  a  likeness  in  his  frenzied  look  to 
that  of  Edward  Randolph.  Did  his  broken  spirit  feel, 
at  that  dread  hour,  the  tremendous  burden  of  a  Peo 
ple's  curse? 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  miraculous  legend,  I  in 
quired  of  mine  host  whether  the  picture  still  remained 
in  the  chamber  over  our  heads  •,  but  Mr.  Tiffany  in 
formed  me  that  it  had  long  since  been  removed,  and 
was  supposed  to  be  hidden  in  some  out-of-the-wray  cor 
ner  of  the  New  England  Museum.  Perchance  some 
curious  antiquary  may  light  upon  it  there,  and,  with 
the  assistance  of  Mr.  Howorth,  the  picture  cleaner, 

VOL.  i.  20 


306  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

may  supply  a  not  unnecessary  proof  of  the  authenticity 
of  the  facts  here  set  down.  During  the  progress  o( 
the  story  a  storm  had  been  gathering  abroad,  and  rag 
ing  and  rattling  so  loudly  in  the  upper  regions  of  the 
Province  House,  that  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  old  gov 
ernors  and  great  men  were  running  riot  above  stairs 
while  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany  babbled  of  them  below.  In 
the  course  of  generations,  when  many  people  have 
lived  and  died  in  an  ancient  house,  the  whistling  of 
the  wind  through  its  crannies,  and  the  creaking  of  its 
beams  and  rafters,  become  strangely  like  the  tones  of 
the  human  voice,  or  thundering  laughter,  or  heavy 
footsteps  treading  the  deserted  chambers.  It  is  as  if 
the  echoes  of  half  a  century  were  revived.  Such  were 
the  ghostly  sounds  that  roared  and  murmured  in  our 
ears  when  I  took  leave  of  the  circle  round  the  fireside 
of  the  Province  House,  and  plunging  down  the  door 
steps,  fought  my  way  homeward  against  a  drifting 
snow-storm. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE   PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

III. 
LADY   ELEANORE'S   MANTLE. 

MINE  excellent  friend,  the  landlord  of  the  Province 
House,  was  pleased,  the  other  evening,  to  invite  Mr. 
Tiffany  and  myself  to  an  oyster  supper.  This  slight 
mark  of  respect  and  gratitude,  as  he  handsomely  ob 
served,  was  far  less  than  the  ingenious  tale-teller,  and 
I,  the  humble  note-taker  of  his  narratives,  had  fairly 
earned,  by  the  public  notice  which  our  joint  lucubra 
tions  had  attracted  to  his  establishment.  Many  a 
cigar  had  been  smoked  within  his  premises  —  many 
a  glass  of  wine,  or  more  potent  aqua  vitas,  had  been 
quaffed  —  many  a  dinner  had  been  eaten  by  curious 
strangers,  who,  save  for  the  fortunate  conjunction 
of  Mr.  Tiffany  and  me,  would  never  have  ventured 
through  that  darksome  avenue  which  gives  access  to 
the  historic  precincts  of  the  Province  House.  In 
short,  if  any  credit  be  due  to  the  courteous  assurances 
of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  we  had  brought  his  forgotten 
mansion  almost  as  effectually  into  public  view  as  if  we 
had  thrown  down  the  vulgar  range  of  shoe  shops  and 
dry  goods  stores,  which  hides  its  aristocratic  front 
from  Washington  Street.  It  may  be  unadvisable, 
however,  to  speak  too  loudly  of  the  increased  custom 
of  the  house,  lest  Mr.  Waite  should  find  it  difficult  to 
renew  the  lease  on  so  favorable  terms  as  heretofore. 

Being  thus  welcomed  as  benefactors,   neither  Mr. 


308  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Tiffany  nor  myself  felt  any  scruple  in  doing  full  jus 
tice  to  the  good  things  that  were  set  before  us.  If  the 
feast  were  less  magnificent  than  those  same  panelled 
walls  had  witnessed  in  a  by-gone  century,  —  if  mine 
host  presided  with  somewhat  less  of  state  than  might 
have  befitted  a  successor  of  the  royal  Governors,  —  if 
the  guests  made  a  less  imposing  show  than  the  be- 
wigged  and  powdered  and  embroided  dignitaries,  who 
erst  banqueted  at  the  gubernatorial  table,  and  now 
sleep,  within  their  armorial  tombs  on  Copp's  Hill,  or 
round  King's  Chapel,  —  yet  never,  I  may  boldly  say, 
did  a  more  comfortable  little  party  assemble  in  the 
Province  House,  from  Queen  Anne's  days  to  the 
Revolution.  The  occasion  was  rendered  more  inter 
esting  by  the  presence  of  a  venerable  personage,  whose 
own  actual  reminiscences  went  back  to  the  epoch  of 
Gage  and  Howe,  and  even  supplied  him  with  a  doubt 
ful  anecdote  or  two  of  Hutchinson.  He  was  one  of 
that  small,  and  now  all  but  extinguished,  class,  whose 
attachment  to  royalty,  and  to  the  colonial  institutions 
and  customs  that  were  connected  with  it,  had  never 
yielded  to  the  democratic  heresies  of  after  times.  The 
young  queen  of  Britain  has  not  a  more  loyal  subject 
in  her  realm  —  perhaps  not  one  who  would  kneel  be 
fore  her  throne  with  such  reverential  love  —  as  this 
old  grandsire,  whose  head  has  whitened  beneath  the 
mild  sway  of  the  Republic,  which  still,  in  his  mel 
lower  moments,  he  terms  a  usurpation.  Yet  prej 
udices  so  obstinate  have  not  made  him  an  ungentle 
or  impracticable  companion.  If  the  truth  must  be 
told,  the  life  of  the  aged  loyalist  has  been  of  such  a 
scrambling  and  unsettled  character,  —  he  has  had  so 
little  choice  of  friends  and  been  so  often  destitute  of 
any,  —  that  I  doubt  whether  he  would  refuse  a  cup  of 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  309 

kindness  with  either  Oliver  Cromwell  or  John  Han 
cock,  —  to  say  nothing  of  any  democrat  now  upon  the 
stage.  In  another  paper  of  this  series  I  may  perhaps 
give  the  reader  a  closer  glimpse  of  his  portrait. 

Our  host,  in  due  season,  uncorked  a  bottle  of  Ma 
deira,  of  such  exquisite  perfume  and  admirable  flavor 
that  he  surely  must  have  discovered  it  in  an  ancient 
bin,  down  deep  beneath  the  deepest  cellar,  where  some 
jolly  old  butler  stored  away  the  Governor's  choicest 
wine,  and  forgot  to  reveal  the  secret  on  his  death-bed. 
Peace  to  his  red-nosed  ghost,  and  a  libation  to  his 
memory !  This  precious  liquor  was  imbibed  by  Mr. 
Tiffany  with  peculiar  zest ;  and  after  sipping  the  third 
glass,  it  was  his  pleasure  to  give  us  one  of  the  oddest 
legends  which  he  had  yet  raked  from  the  storehouse 
where  he  keeps  such  matters.  With  some  suitable 
adornments  from  my  own  fancy,  it  ran  pretty  much  as 
follows. 


Not  long  after  Colonel  Shute  had  assumed  the  gov 
ernment  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  now  nearly  a  hundred 
and  twenty  years  ago,  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  for 
tune  arrived  from  England,  to  claim  his  protection  as 
her  guardian.  He  was  her  distant  relative,  but  the 
nearest  who  had  survived  the  gradual  extinction  of  her 
family ;  so  that  no  more  eligible  shelter  could  be  found 
for  the  rich  and  high-born  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe 
than  within  the  Province  House  of  a  transatlantic 
colony.  The  consort  of  Governor  Shute,  moreover, 
had  been  as  a  mother  to  her  childhood,  and  was  now 
anxious  to  receive  her,  in  the  hope  that  a  beautiful 
young  woman  would  be  exposed  to  infinitely  less  peril 
from  the  primitive  society  of  Xew  England  than  amid 


310  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  artifices  and  corruptions  of  a  court.  If  either  the 
Governor  or  his  lady  had  especially  consulted  their 
own  comfort,  they  would  probably  have  sought  to  de 
volve  the  responsibility  on  other  hands  :  since,  with 
some  noble  and  splendid  traits  of  character,  Lady  El- 
eanore  was  remarkable  for  a  harsh,  unyielding  pride, 
a  haughty  consciousness  of  her  hereditary  and  per 
sonal  advantages,  which  made  her  almost  incapable  of 
control.  Judging  from  many  traditionary  anecdotes, 
this  peculiar  temper  was  hardly  less  than  a  mono 
mania  ;  or,  if  the  acts  which  it  inspired  were  those  of 
a  sane  person,  it  seemed  due  from  Providence  that 
pride  so  sinful  should  be  followed  by  as  severe  a 
retribution.  That  tinge  of  the  marvellous,  which  is 
thrown  over  so  many  of  these  half-forgotten  legends, 
has  probably  imparted  an  additional  wildness  to  the 
strange  story  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe. 

The  ship  in  which  she  came  passenger  had  arrived 
at  Newport,  whence  Lady  Eleanore  was  conveyed  to 
Boston  in  the  Governor's  coach,  attended  by  a  small 
escort  of  gentlemen  on  horseback.  The  ponderous 
equipage,  with  its  four  black  horses,  attracted  much 
notice  as  it  rumbled  through  Cornhill,  surrounded  by 
the  prancing  steeds  of  half  a  dozen  cavaliers,  with 
swords  dangling  to  their  stirrups  and  pistols  at  their 
holsters.  Through  the  large  glass  windows  of  the 
coach,  as  it  rolled  along,  the  people  could  discern  the 
figure  of  Lady  Eleanore,  strangely  combining  an  al 
most  queenly  stateliness  with  the  grace  and  beauty  of  a 
maiden  in  her  teens.  A  singular  tale  had  gone  abroad 
among  the  ladies  of  the  province,  that  their  fair  rivaJ 
was  indebted  for  much  of  the  irresistible  charm  of  hei 
appearance  to  a  certain  article  of  dress  —  an  emb^oid- 
ered  mantle — which  had  been  wrought  by  the  most 


LADY  ELEANORE1  S  MANTLE.  311 

skilful  artist  in  London,  and  possessed  even  magical 
properties  of  adornment.  On  the  present  occasion, 
however,  she  owed  nothing  to  the  witchery  of  dress, 
being  clad  in  a  riding  habit  of  velvet,  which  would 
have  appeared  stiff  and  ungraceful  on  any  other  form. 

The  coachman  reined  in  his  four  black  steeds,  and 
the  whole  cavalcade  came  to  a  pause  in  front  of  the 
contorted  iron  balustrade  that  fenced  the  Province 
House  from  the  public  street.  It  was  an  awkward 
coincidence  that  the  bell  of  the  Old  South  was  just 
then  tolling  for  a  f uneral ;  so  that,  instead  of  a  glad 
some  peal  with  which  it  was  customary  to  announce 
the  arrival  of  distinguished  strangers,  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe  was  ushered  by  a  doleful  clang,  as  if  calam 
ity  had  come  embodied  in  her  beautiful  person. 

4k  A  very  great  disrespect  I "  exclaimed  Captain 
Langford,  an  English  officer,  who  had  recently 
brought  dispatches  to  Governor  Shute.  "The  fu 
neral  should  have  been  deferred,  lest  Lady  Eleanore's 
spirits  be  affected  by  such  a  dismal  welcome." 

"With  your  pardon,  sir,''  replied  Doctor  Clarke, 
a  physician,  and  a  famous  champion  of  the  popular 
party,  '*  whatever  the  heralds  may  pretend,  a  dead  beg 
gar  must  have  precedence  of  a  living  queen.  King 
Death  confers  high  privileges.'' 

These  remarks  were  interchanged  while  the  speak 
ers  waited  a  passage  through  the  crowd,  which  had 
gathered  on  each  side  of  the  gateway,  leaving  an  open 
avenue  to  the  portal  of  the  Province  House.  A  black 
slave  in  livery  now  leaped  from  behind  the  coach,  and 
threw  open  the  door  ;  wliile  at  the  same  moment  Gov 
ernor  Shute  descended  the  flight  of  steps  from  his 
mansion,  to  assist  Lady  Eleanore  in  alighting.  But 
the  Governor's  stately  approach  was  anticipated  in  a 


312  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

manner  that  excited  general  astonishment.  A  pale 
young  man,  with  his  black  hair  all  in  disorder,  rushed 
from  the  throng,  and  prostrated  himself  beside  the 
coach,  thus  offering  his  person  as  a  footstool  for  Lady 
Eleanore  Rochcliffe  to  tread  upon.  She  held  back  an 
instant,  yet  with  an  expression  as  if  doubting  whether 
the  young  man  were  worthy  to  bear  the  weight  of  her 
footstep,  rather  than  dissatisfied  to  receive  such  awful 
reverence  from  a  fellow-mortal. 

"  Up,  sir,"  said  the  Governor,  sternly,  at  the  same 
time  lifting  his  cane  over  the  intruder.  "  What  means 
the  Bedlamite  by  this  freak  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  lady  Eleanore  playfully,  but  with 
more  scorn  than  pity  in  her  tone,  "  your  Excellency 
shall  not  strike  him.  When  men  seek  only  to  be 
trampled  upon,  it  were  a  pity  to  deny  them  a  favor  so 
easily  granted  —  and  so  well  deserved  !  " 

Then,  though  as  lightly  as  a  sunbeam  on  a  cloud, 
she  placed  her  foot  upon  the  cowering  form,  and  ex 
tended  her  hand  to  meet  that  of  the  Governor.  There 
was  a  brief  interval,  during  which  Lady  Eleanore 
retained  this  attitude  ;  and  never,  surely,  was  there  an 
apter  emblem  of  aristocracy  and  hereditary  pride 
trampling  on  human  sympathies  and  the  kindred  of 
nature,  than  these  two  figures  presented  at  that  mo 
ment.  Yet  the  spectators  were  so  smitten  with  her 
beauty,  and  so  essential  did  pride  seem  to  the  exist 
ence  of  such  a  creature,  that  they  gave  a  simultaneous 
acclamation  of  applause. 

"Who  is  this  insolent  young  fellow?"  inquired 
Captain  Langford,  who  still  remained  beside  Doctor 
Clarke.  "If  he  be  in  his  senses,  his  impertinence 
demands  the  bastinado.  If  mad,  Lady  Eleanore 
should  be  secured  from  further  inconvenience,  by  his 
confinement" 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  313 

"His  name  is  Jervase  Helwyse,"  answered  the  Doc 
tor  ;  "  a  youth  of  no  birth  or  fortune,  or  other  advan 
tages,  save  the  mind  and  soul  that  nature  gave  him  ; 
and  being  secretary  to  our  colonial  agent  in  London, 
it  was  his  misfortune  to  meet  this  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe.  He  loved  her  —  and  her  scorn  has  driven 
him  mad." 

"  He  was  mad  so  to  aspire,"  observed  the  English 
officer. 

ic  It  may  be  so,"  said  Doctor  Clarke,  frowning  as  he 
spoke.  "  But  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  could  well-nigh  doubt 
the  justice  of  the  Heaven  above  us  if  no  signal  humili 
ation  overtake  this  lady,  who  now  treads  so  haughtily 
into  yonder  mansion.  She  seeks  to  place  herself  above 
the  sympathies  of  our  common  nature,  which  envelops 
all  human  soids.  See,  if  that  nature  do  not  assert  its 
claim  over  her  in  some  mode  that  shall  bring  her  level 
with  the  lowest !  " 

"  Never  !  "  cried  Captain  Langford  indignantly  — 
'•neither  in  life,  nor  when  they  lay  her  with  her 
ancestors." 

Xot  many  days  afterwards  the  Governor  gave  a  ball 
in  honor  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe.  The  principal 
gentry  of  the  colony  received  invitations,  which  were 
distributed  to  their  residences,  far  and  near,  by  mes 
sengers  on  horseback,  bearing  missives  sealed  with  all 
the  formality  of  official  dispatches.  In  obedience  to 
the  summons,  there  was  a  general  gathering  of  rank, 
wealth,  and  beauty ;  and  the  wide  door  of  the  Province 
House  had  seldom  given  admittance  to  more  numerous 
and  honorable  guests  than  on  the  evening  of  Lady 
Eleanore's  ball.  Without  much  extravagance  of  eu 
logy,  the  spectacle  might  even  be  termed  splendid ; 
for,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  the  ladies 


314  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

shone  in  rich  silks  and  satins,  outspread  over 
projecting  hoops  ;  and  the  gentlemen  glittered  in  gold 
embroidery,  laid  unsparingly  upon  the  purple,  or  scar 
let,  or  sky-blue  velvet,  which  was  the  material  of  their 
coats  and  waistcoats.  The  latter  article  of  dress  was 
of  great  importance,  since  it  enveloped  the  wearer's 
body  nearly  to  the  knees,  and  was  perhaps  bedizened 
with  the  amount  of  his  whole  year's  income,  in  golden 
flowers  and  foliage.  The  altered  taste  of  the  present 
day  —  a  taste  symbolic  of  a  deep  change  in  the  whole 
system  of  society  —  would  look  upon  almost  any  of 
those  gorgeous  figures  as  ridiculous  ;  although  that 
evening  the  guests  sought  their  reflections  in  the  pier- 
glasses,  and  rejoiced  to  catch  their  own  glitter  amid 
the  glittering  crowd.  What  a  pity  that  one  of  the 
stately  mirrors  has  not  preserved  a  picture  of  the 
scene,  which,  by  the  very  traits  that  were  so  transi 
tory,  might  have  taught  us  much  that  would  be  worth 
knowing  and  remembering ! 

Would,  at  least,  that  either  painter  or  mirror  could 
convey  to  us  some  faint  idea  of  a  garment,  already 
noticed  in  this  legend,  —  the  Lady  Eleanore's  embroid 
ered  mantle,  —  which  the  gossips  whispered  was  in 
vested  with  magic  properties,  so  as  to  lend  a  new  and 
untried  grace  to  her  figure  each  time  that  she  put  it 
on !  Idle  fancy  as  it  is,  this  mysterious  mantle  has 
thrown  an  awe  around  my  image  of  her,  partly  from 
its  fabled  virtues,  and  partly  because  it  was  the  handi 
work  of  a  dying  woman,  and,  perchance,  owed  the  fan 
tastic  grace  of  its  conception  to  the  delirium  of  ap 
proaching  death. 

After  the  ceremonial  greetings  had  been  paid,  Lady 
Eleanore  Rochcliffe  stood  apart  from  the  mob  of 
guests,  insulating  herself  within  a  small  and  distir 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  315 

finished  circle,  to  whom  she  accorded  a  more  cordial 
favor  than  to  the  general  throng .  The  \vaxeii  torches 
threw  their  radiance  vividly  over  the  scene,  bringing 
out  its  brilliant  points  in  strong  relief ;  but  she  gazed 
careless!}',  and  with  now  and  then  an  expression  of 
weariness  or  scorn,  tempered  with  such  feminine  grace 
that  her  auditors  scarcely  perceived  the  moral  deform 
ity  of  which  it  was  the  utterance.  She  beheld  the 
spectacle  not  with  vulgar  ridicule,  as  disdaining  to  be 
pleased  with  the  provincial  mockery  of  a  court  festival, 
but  with  the  deeper  scorn  of  one  whose  spirit  held  it 
self  too  high  to  participate  in  the  enjoyment  of  other 
human  souls.  Whether  or  no  the  recollections  of 
those  who  saw  her  that  evening  were  influenced  by 
the  strange  events  with  which  she  was  subsequently 
connected,  so  it  was  that  her  figure  ever  after  recurred 
to  them  as  marked  by  something  wild  and  unnatural, — 
although,  at  the  time,  the  general  whisper  was  of  her 
exceeding  beauty,  and  of  the  indescribable  charm 
which  her  mantle  threw  around  her.  Some  close  ob 
servers,  indeed,  detected  a  feverish  flush  and  alternate 
paleness  of  countenance,  with  a  corresponding  flow  and 
revulsion  of  spirits,  and  once  or  twice  a  painful  and 
helpless  betrayal  of  lassitude,  as  if  she  were  on  the 
point  of  sinking  to  the  ground.  Then,  with  a  nervous 
shudder,  she  seemed  to  arouse  her  energies  and  threw 
some  bright  and  playful  yet  half-wicked  sarcasm  into 
the  conversation.  There  was  so  strange  a  character 
istic  in  her  manners  and  sentiments  that  it  astonished 
every  right-minded  listener  ,  till  looking  in  her  face,  a 
lurking  and  incomprehensible  glance  and  smile  per 
plexed  them  with  doubts  both  as  to  her  seriousness 
and  sanity.  Gradually,  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe's 
circle  grew  smaller,  till  only  four  gentlemen  remained 


316  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

in  it.  These  were  Captain  Langford,  the  English 
officer  before  mentioned ;  a  Virginian  planter,  who  had 
come  to  Massachusetts,  on  some  political  errand  ;  a 
young  Episcopal  clergyman,  the  grandson  of  a  British 
earl ;  and,  lastly,  the  private  secretary  of  Governor 
Shute,  whose  obsequiousness  had  won  a  sort  of  toler 
ance  from  Lady  Eleanore. 

At  different  periods  of  the  evening  the  liveried 
servants  of  the  Province  House  passed  among  the 
guests,  bearing  huge  trays  of  refreshments  and  French 
and  Spanish  wines.  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe,  who 
refused  to-  wet  her  beautif id  lips  even  with  a  bubble  of 
Champagne,  had  sunk  back  into  a  large  damask  chair, 
apparently  overwearied  either  with  the  excitement  of 
the  scene  or  its  tedium,  and  while,  for  an  instant,  she 
was  unconscious  of  voices,  laughter  and  music,  a 
young  man  stole  forward,  and  knelt  down  at  her  feet. 
He  bore  a  salver  in  his  hand,  on  which  was  a  chased 
silver  goblet,  filled  to  the  brim  with  wine,  which  he 
offered  as  reverentially  as  to  a  crowned  queen,  or 
rather  with  the  awfid  devotion  of  a  priest  doing 
sacrifice  to  his  idol.  Conscious  that  some  one  touched 
her  robe,  Lady  Eleanore  started,  and  unclosed  her 
eyes  upon  the  pale,  wild  features  and  dishevelled  hair 
of  Jervase  Helwyse. 

"  Why  do  you  haunt  me  thus  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  lan 
guid  tone,  but  with  a  kindlier  feeling  than  she  ordina 
rily  permitted  herself  to  express.  "  They  tell  me  that 
I  have  done  you  harm." 

"  Heaven  knows  if  that  be  so,"  replied  the  young 
man  solemnly.  "  But,  Lady  Eleanore,  in  requital  of 
that  lira™,  if  such  there  be,  and  for  your  own  earthly 
and  heavenly  welfare,  I  pray  you  to  take  one  sip  of 
this  holy  wine,  and  then  to  pass  the  goblet  round 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  317 

among  the  guests.  And  this  shall  be  a  symbol  that 
you  have  not  sought  to  withdraw  yourself  from  the 
chain  of  human  sympathies  —  which  whoso  would 
shake  off  must  keep  company  with  fallen  angels." 

"  Where  has  this  mad  fellow  stolen  that  sacramental 
vessel  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Episcopal  clergyman. 

This  question  drew  the  notice  of  the  guests  to  the 
silver  cup,  which  was  recognized  as  appertaining  to 
the  communion  plate  of  the  Old  South  Church;  and, 
for  aught  that  could  be  known,  it  was  brimming  over 
with  the  consecrated  wine. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  poisoned,"  half  whispered  the  Gov 
ernor's  secretary. 

"  Pour  it  down  the  villain's  throat !  "  cried  the  Vir 
ginian  fiercely. 

"  Turn  him  out  of  the  house  !  "  cried  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  seizing  Jervase  Helwyse  so  roughly  by  the 
shoidder  that  the  sacramental  cup  was  overturned, 
and  its  contents  sprinkled  upon  Lady  Eleanore's 
mantle.  "Whether  knave,  fool,  or  Bedlamite,  it  is 
intolerable  that  the  fellow  should  go  at  large." 

"  Pray,  gentlemen,  do  my  poor  admirer  no  harm," 
said  Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  faint  and  weary  smile. 
"  Take  him  out  of  my  sight,  if  such  be  your  pleasure ; 
for  I  can  find  in  my  heart  to  do  nothing  but  laugh  at 
him ;  whereas,  in  all  decency  and  conscience,  it  would 
become  me  to  weep  for  the  mischief  I  have  wrought !  " 

But  while  the  by-standers  were  attempting  to  lead 
away  the  unfortunate  young  man,  he  broke  from  them, 
and  with  a  wild,  impassioned  earnestness,  offered  a 
new  and  equally  strange  petition  to  Lady  Eleanore.  It 
was  no  other  than  that  she  should  throw  off  the  mantle, 
which,  while  he  pressed  the  silver  cup  of  wine  upon 
her,  she  had  drawn  more  closely  around  her  form,  so 
as  almost  to  shroud  herself  within  it. 


818  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Cast  it  from  you ! "  exclaimed  Jervase  Helwyse, 
clasping  his  hands  in  an  agony  of  entreaty.  "It  may 
not  yet  be  too  late !  Give  the  accursed  garment  to 
the  flames !  " 

But  Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  laugh  of  scorn,  drew  the 
rich  folds  of  the  embroidered  mantle  over  her  head,  in 
such  a  fashion  as  to  give  a  completely  new  aspect  to 
her  beautiful  face,  which  —  half  hidden,  half  revealed 
—  seemed  to  belong  to  some  being  of  mysterious  char 
acter  and  purposes, 

"Farewell,  Jervase  Helwyse!"  said  she.  "Keep 
my  image  in  your  remembrance,  as  you  behold  it 
now." 

"  Alas,  lady !  "  he  replied,  in  a  tone  no  longer  wild, 
but  sad  as  a  funeral  bell.  "  We  must  meet  shortly, 
when  your  face  may  wear  another  aspect  —  and  that 
shall  be  the  image  that  must  abide  within  me." 

He  made  no  more  resistance  to  the  violent  efforts  of 
the  gentlemen  and  servants,  who  almost  dragged  him 
out  of  the  apartment,  and  dismissed  him  roughly  from 
the  iron  gate  of  the  Province  House.  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  who  had  been  very  active  in  this  affair,  was  re 
turning  to  the  presence  of  Lady  Eleanore  Eochcliffe, 
when  he  encountered  the  physician,  Doctor  Clarke, 
with  whom  he  had  held  some  casual  talk  on  the  day  of 
her  arrival.  The  Doctor  stood  apart,  separated  from 
Lady  Eleanore  by  the  width  of  the  room,  but  eying 
her  with  such  keen  sagacity  that  Captain  Langford 
involuntarily  gave  him  credit  for  the  discovery  of  some 
deep  secret. 

"You  appear  to  be  smitten,  after  all,  with  the  charms 
of  this  queenly  maiden,"  said  he,  hoping  thus  to  draw 
forth  the  physician's  hidden  knowledge. 

"  God  forbid !  "  answered  Doctor  Clarke,  with  a  grave 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  319 

smile ;  "  and  if  you  be  wise  you  will  put  up  the  same 
prayer  for  yourself.  Woe  to  those  who  shall  be  smit 
ten  by  this  beautiful  Lady  Eleanore!  But  yonder 
stands  the  Governor  —  and  I  have  a  word  or  two  for 
his  private  ear.  Good  night !  " 

He  accordingly  advanced  to  Governor  Shute,  and 
addressed  him  in  so  low  a  tone  that  none  of  the 
by-standers  coidd  catch  a  word  of  what  he  said,  al 
though  the  sudden  change  of  his  Excellency's  hitherto 
cheerful  visage  betokened  that  the  communication 
could  be  of  no  agreeable  import.  A  very  few  moments 
afterwards  it  was  announced  to  the  guests  that  an  un 
foreseen  circumstance  rendered  it  necessary  to  put  a 
premature  close  to  the  festival. 

The  ball  at  the  Province  House  supplied  a  topic  of 
conversation  for  the  colonial  metropolis  for  some  days 
after  its  occurrence,  and  might  still  longer  have  been 
the  general  theme,  only  that  a  subject  of  all-engrossing 
interest  thrust  it,  for  a  time,  from  the  public  recollec 
tion.  This  was  the  appearance  of  a  dreadful  epidemic, 
which,  in  that  age  and  long  before  and  afterwards, 
was  wont  to  slay  its  hundreds  and  thousands  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic.  On  the  occasion  of  which  we 
speak,  it  was  distinguished  by  a  peculiar  virulence,  in 
somuch  that  it  has  left  its  traces  —  its  pit-marks,  to  use 
an  appropriate  figure  —  on  the  history  of  the  country, 
the  affairs  of  which  were  thrown  into  confusion  by 
its  ravages.  At  first,  unlike  its  ordinary  course,  the 

O  ** 

disease  seemed  to  confine  itself  to  the  higher  circles  of 
society,  selecting  its  victims  from  among  the  proud, 
the  well-born,  and  the  wealthy,  entering  unabashed  into 
stately  chambers,  and  lying  down  with  the  slumberers 
in  silken  beds.  Some  of  the  most  distinguished  guests 
of  the  Province  House  —  even  those  whom  the  haughty 


820  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe  had  deemed  not  unworthy 
of  her  favor  —  were  stricken  by  this  fatal  scourge.  It 
was  noticed,  with  an  ungenerous  bitterness  of  feeling, 
that  the  four  gentlemen  —  the  Virginian,  the  British 
officer,  the  young  clergyman,  and  the  Governor's  se 
cretary —  who  had  been  her  most  devoted  attendants 
on  the  evening  of  the  ball,  were  the  foremost  on  whom 
the  plague  stroke  fell.  But  the  disease,  pursuing  its 
onward  progress,  soon  ceased  to  be  exclusively  a  pre 
rogative  of  aristocracy.  Its  red  brand  was  110  longer 
conferred  like  a  noble's  star,  or  an  order  of  knight 
hood.  It  threaded  its  way  through  the  narrow  and 
crooked  streets,  and  entered  the  low,  mean,  darksome 
dwellings,  and  laid  its  hand  of  death  upon  the  artisans 
and  laboring  classes  of  the  town.  It  compelled  rich 
and  poor  to  feel  themselves  brethren  then ;  and  stalk 
ing  to  and  fro  across  the  Three  Hills,  with  a  fierceness 
which  made  it  almost  a  new  pestilence,  there  was  that 
mighty  conqueror  —  that  scourge  and  horror  of  our 
forefathers  —  the  Small-Pox  ! 

We  cannot  estimate  the  affright  which  this  plague 
inspired  of  yore,  by  contemplating  it  as  the  fangless 
monster  of  the  present  day.  We  must  remember, 
rather,  with  what  awe  we  watched  the  gigantic  foot 
steps  of  the  Asiatic  cholera,  striding  from  shore  to 
shore  of  the  Atlantic,  and  marching  like  destiny  upon 
cities  far  remote  which  flight  had  already  half  depopu 
lated.  There  is  no  other  fear  so  horrible  and  unhu- 
manizing  as  that  which  makes  man  dread  to  breathe 
heaven's  vital  air  lest  it  be  poison,  or  to  grasp  the 
hand  of  a  brother  or  friend  lest  the  gripe  of  the  pes 
tilence  should  clutch  him.  Such  was  the  dismay  that 
now  followed  in  the  track  of  the  disease,  or  ran  before 
it  throughout  the  town.  Graves  were  hastily  dug,  and 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  321 

the  pestilential  relies  as  hastily  covered,  because  the 
dead  were  enemies  of  the  living,  and  strove  to  draw 
them  headlong,  as  it  were,  into  their  own  dismal  pit. 
The  public  councils  were  suspended,  as  if  mortal  wis 
dom  might  relinquish  its  devices,  now  that  an  un 
earthly  usurper  had  found  his  way  into  the  ruler's 
mansion.  Had  an  enemy's  fleet  been  hovering  on  the 
coast,  or  his  armies  trampling  on  our  soil,  the  people 
would  probably  have  committed  their  defence  to  that 
same  direful  conqueror  wrho  had  wrought  their  own 
calamity,  and  would  permit  no  interference  with  his 
sway.  This  conqueror  had  a  symbol  of  his  triumphs. 
It  was  a  blood-red  flag,  that  fluttered  in  the  tainted 
air,  over  the  door  of  every  dwelling  into  which  the 
Small-Pox  had  entered. 

Such  a  banner  was  long  since  waving  over  the 
portal  of  the  Province  House ;  for  thence,  as  was 
proved  by  tracking  its  footsteps  back,  had  all  tin's 
dreadful  mischief  issued.  It  had  been  traced  back  to 
a  lady's  luxurious  chamber  —  to  the  proudest  of  the 
proud  —  to  her  that  was  so  delicate,  and  hardly  owned 
herself  of  earthly  mould  —  to  the  haughty  one,  who 
took  her  stand  above  human  sympathies  —  to  Lady 
Eleanore !  There  remained  no  room  for  doubt  that 
the  contagion  had  lurked  in  that  gorgeous  mantle, 
which  threw  so  strange  a  grace  around  her  at  the 
festival.  Its  fantastic  splendor  had  been  conceived  in 
the  delirious  brain  of  a  woman  on  her  death-bed,  and 
was  the  last  toil  of  her  stiffening  fingers,  which  had 
interwoven  fate  and  misery  with  its  golden  threads. 
This  dark  tale,  whispered  at  first,  was  now  bruited 
far  and  wide.  The  people  raved  against  the  Lady 
Eieanore,  and  cried  out  that  her  pride  and  scorn  had 
evoked  a  fiend,  and  that,  between  them  both,  this 

VOL.  I.  21 


322  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

monstrous  evil  had  been  born.  At  times,  their  rage 
and  despair  took  the  semblance  of  grinning  mirth  ; 
and  whenever  the  red  flag  of  the  pestilence  was  hoisted 
over  another  and  yet  another  door,  they  clapped  their 
hands  and  shouted  through  the  streets,  in  bitter  mock 
ery  :  "  Behold  a  new  triumph  for  the  Lady  Eleanore  !  " 

One  day,  in  the  midst  of  these  dismal  times,  a  wild 
figure  approached  the  portal  of  the  Province  House, 
and  folding  his  arms,  stood  contemplating  the  scarlet 
banner  which  a  passing  breeze  shook  fitfully,  as  if  to 
fling  abroad  the  contagion  that  it  typified.  At  length, 
climbing  one  of  the  pillars  by  means  of  the  iron  bal 
ustrade,  he  took  down  the  flag  and  entered  the  man 
sion,  wraving  it  above  his  head.  At  the  foot  of  the 
staircase  he  met  the  Governor,  booted  and  spurred, 
with  his  cloak  drawn  around  him,  evidently  on  the 
point  of  setting  forth  upon  a  journey. 

"  Wretched  lunatic,  what  do  you  seek  here  ?  "  ex 
claimed  Shute,  extending  his  cane  to  guard  himself 
from  contact.  "There  is  nothing  here  but  Death. 
Back  —  or  you  will  meet  him  !  " 

"  Death  will  not  touch  me,  the  banner-bearer  of  the 
pestilence  I  "  cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  shaking  the  red 
flag  aloft.  "Death,  and  the  Pestilence,  who  wears 
the  aspect  of  the  Lady  Eleanore,  will  walk  through 
the  streets  to-night,  and  I  must  march  before  them 
with  this  banner !  " 

"  Why  do  I  waste  words  on  the  fellow  ?  "  muttered 
the  Governor,  drawing  his  cloak  across  his  mouth. 
u  What  matters  his  miserable  life,  when  none  of  us 
are  sure  of  twelve  hours'  breath  ?  On,  fool,  to  your 
own  destruction !  " 

He  made  way  for  Jervase  Helwyse,  who  immedi- 
ately  ascended  the  staircase,  but,  on  the  first  landing 


LADY  ELEANORE' S  MANTLE.  323 

place,  was  arrested  by  the  firm  grasp  of  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  Looking  fiercely  up,  with  a  madman's 
impulse  to  struggle  with  and  rend  asunder  his  oppo 
nent,  he  found  himself  powerless  beneath  a  calm,  stern 
eye,  which  possessed  the  mysterious  property  of  quell 
ing  frenzy  at  its  height.  The  person  whom  he  had 
now  encountered  was  the  physician,  Doctor  Clarke, 
the  duties  of  whose  sad  profession  had  led  him  to  the 
Province  House,  where  he  was  an  infrequent  guest  in 
more  prosperous  times. 

"  Young  man,  what  is  your  purpose  ?  "  demanded 
he. 

k*  I  seek  the  Lady  Eleanore,"'  answered  Jervase 
Helwyse,  submissively. 

"  All  have  fled  from  her,"  said  the  physician. 
"  Why  do  you  seek  her  now  ?  I  tell  you,  youth,  her 
nurse  fell  death-stricken  on  the  threshold  of  that  fatal 
chamber.  Know  ye  not,  that  never  came  such  a  curse 
to  our  shores  as  this  lovely  Lady  Eleanore  ?  —  that 
her  breath  has  filled  the  air  with  poison  ?  —  that  she 
has  shaken  pestilence  and  death  upon  the  land,  from 
the  folds  of  her  accursed  mantle?  ''  M 

'•  Let  me  look  upon  her !  ''  rejoined  the  mad  youth, 
more  wildly.  "  Let  me  behold  her,  in  her  awful 
beauty,  clad  in  the  regal  garments  of  the  pestilence ! 
She  and  Death  sit  on  a  throne  together.  Let  me 
kneel  down  before  them  !  " 

"Poor  youth!''  said  Doctor  Clarke;  and,  moved 
by  a  deep  sense  of  human  weakness,  a  smile  of  caus 
tic  humor  curled  his  lip  even  then.  4-  Wilt  thou  still 
worship  the  destroyer  and  surround  her  image  with 
fantasies  the  more  magnificent,  the  more  evil  she  has 
wrought  ?  Thus  man  doth  ever  to  his  tyrants.  Ap 
proach,  then  !  Madness,  as  I  have  noted,  has  that 


324  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

good  efficacy,  that  it  will  guard  you  from  contagion  — 
and  perchance  its  own  cure  may  be  found  in  yonder 
chamber." 

Ascending  another  flight  of  stairs,  he  threw  open  a 
door  and  signed  to  Jervase  Helwyse  that  he  should 
enter.  The  poor  lunatic,  it  seems  probable,  had  cher 
ished  a  delusion  that  his  haughty  mistress  sat  in  state, 
unharmed  herself  by  the  pestilential  influence,  which, 
as  by  enchantment,  she  scattered  round  about  her. 
He  dreamed,  no  doubt,  that  her  beauty  was  not 
dimmed,  but  brightened  into  superhuman  splendor. 
With  such  anticipations,  he  stole  reverentially  to  the 
door  at  which  the  physician  stood,  but  paused  upon 
the  threshold,  gazing  fearfully  into  the  gloom  of  the 
darkened  chamber. 

"  Where  is  the  Lady  Eleanore?"  whispered  he. 

"  Call  her,"  replied  the  physician. 

"  Lady  Eleanore !  —  Princess !  —  Queen  of  Death  ! " 
cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  advancing  three  steps  into  the 
chamber.  "  She  is  not  here !  There,  on  yonder  table, 
I  behold  the  sparkle  of  a  diamond  which  once  she 
wore  upon  her  bosom.  There" — and  he  shuddered 
—  "  there  hangs  her  mantle,  on  which  a  dead  woman 
embroidered  a  spell  of  dreadful  potency.  But  where 
is  the  Lady  Eleanore  ?  " 

Something  stirred  within  the  silken  curtains  of  a 
canopied  bed ;  and  a  low  moan  was  uttered,  which, 
listening  intently,  Jervase  Helwyse  began  to  distin 
guish  as  a  woman's  voice,  complaining  dolefully  of 
thirst.  He  fancied,  even,  that  he  recognized  its  tones. 

"  My  throat !  —  my  throat  is  scorched,"  murmured 
the  voice.  "  A  drop  of  water !  " 

"What  thing  art  thou?"  said  the  brain-stritken 
youth,  drawing  near  the  bed  and  tearing  asunder  it» 


LADY  ELEANORE'S   MANTLE.  325 

curtains.  "  Whose  voice  hast  thou  stolen  for  thy  mur 
murs  and  miserable  petitions,  as  if  Lady  Eleanore 
could  be  conscious  of  mortal  infirmity  ?  Fie  I  Heap 
of  diseased  mortality,  why  lurkest  thou  in  my  lady's 
chamber  ?  " 

"O  Jervase  Helwyse,"  said  the  voice  —  and  as  it 
spoke  the  figure  contorted  itself,  struggling  to  hide  its 
blasted  face  —  "look  not  now  on  the  woman  you  once 
loved!  The  curse  of  Heaven  hath  stricken  me,  be 
cause  I  would  not  call  man  my  brother,  nor  woman 
sister.  I  wrapped  myself  in  PRIDE  as  in  a  MAXTLE, 
and  scorned  the  sympathies  of  nature ;  and  therefore 
has  nature  made  this  wretched  body  the  medium  of  a 
dreadful  sympathy.  You  are  avenged  —  they  are  all 
avenged  —  Nature  is  avenged  —  for  I  am  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe ! " 

The  malice  of  his  mental  disease,  the  bitterness 
lurking  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  mad  as  he  was,  for 
a  blighted  and  ruined  life,  and  love  that  had  been  paid 
with  cruel  scorn,  awoke  within  the  breast  of  Jervase 
Helwyse.  He  shook  his  finger  at  the  wretched  girl, 
and  the  chamber  echoed,  the  curtains  of  the  bed  were 
shaken,  with  his  outburst  of  insane  merriment. 

"  Another  triumph  for  the  Lady  Eleanore !  "  he 
cried.  "  All  have  been  her  victims  !  Who  so  worthy 
to  be  the  final  victim  as  herself  ?  " 

Impelled  by  some  new  fantasy  of  his  crazed  intel 
lect,  he  snatched  the  fatal  mantle  and  rushed  from 
the  chamber  and  the  house.  That  night  a  procession 
passed,  by  torchlight,  through  the  streets,  bearing  in 
the  midst  the  figure  of  a  woman,  enveloped  with  a 
richly  embroidered  mantle  ;  while  in  advance  stalked 
Jervase  Helwyse,  waving  the  red  flag  of  the  pestilence. 
Arriving  opposite  the  Province  House,  the  mob  burned 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  effigy,  and  a  strong  wind  came  and  swept  away 
the  ashes.  It  was  said  that,  from  that  very  hour,  the 
pestilence  abated,  as  if  its  sway  had  some  mysterious 
connection,  from  the  first  plague  stroke  to  the  last, 
with  Lady  Eleanore's  Mantle.  A  remarkable  uncer 
tainty  broods  over  that  unhappy  lady's  fate.  There  is 
a  belief,  however,  that  in  a  certain  chamber  of  this 
mansion  a  female  form  may  sometimes  be  duskily  dis 
cerned,  shrinking  into  the  darkest  corner  and  muf 
fling  her  face  within  an  embroidered  mantle.  Suppos 
ing  the  legend  true,  can  this  be  other  than  the  once 
proud  Lady  Eleanore  ? 


Mine  host  and  the  old  loyalist  and  I  bestowed  no 
little  warmth  of  applause  upon  this  narrative,  in  which 
we  had  all  been  deeply  interested ;  for  the  reader  can 
scarcely  conceive  how  unspeakably  the  effect  of  such 
a  tale  is  heightened  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  we 
may  repose  perfect  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  him 
who  tells  it.  For  my  own  part,  knowing  how  scrupu 
lous  is  Mr.  Tiffany  to  settle  the  foundation  of  his  facts, 
I  could  not  have  believed  him  one  whit  the  more  faith 
fully  had  he  professed  himself  an  eye-witness  of  the 
doings  and  sufferings  of  poor  Lady  Eleanore.  Some 
sceptics,  it  is  true,  might  demand  documentary  evi 
dence,  or  even  require  him  to  produce  the  embroidered 
mantle,  forgetting  that  —  Heaven  be  praised  —  it  was 
consumed  to  ashes.  But  now  the  old  loyalist,  whose 
blood  was  warmed  by  the  good  cheer,  began  to  talk,  in 
his  turn,  about  the  traditions  of  the  Province  House, 
and  hinted  that  he,  if  it  were  agreeable,  might  add  a 
few  reminiscences  to  our  legendary  stock.  Mr.  Tiffany 
having  no  cause  to  dread  a  rival,  immediately  besought 


LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE.  327 

him  to  favor  us  -with  a  specimen ;  my  own  entreaties, 
of  course,  were  urged  to  the  same  effect ;  and  our 
venerable  guest,  well  pleased  to  find  willing  auditors, 
awaited  only  the  return  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  who 
had  been  summoned  forth  to  provide  accommodations 
for  several  new  arrivals.  Perchance  the  public  —  but 
be  this  as  its  own  caprice  and  ours  shall  settle  the 
matter  —  may  read  the  result  in  another  Tale  of  the 
Province  House. 


LEGENDS   OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

IV. 
OLD   ESTHER   DUDLEY. 

OUR  host  having  resumed  the  chair,  he,  as  well  aa 
Mr.  Tiffany  and  myself,  expressed  much  eagerness  to 
be  made  acquainted  with  the  story  to  which  the  loyal 
ist  had  alluded.  That  venerable  man  first  of  all  saw 
fit  to  moisten  his  throat  with  another  glass  of  wine, 
and  then,  turning  his  face  towards  our  coal  fire,  looked 
steadfastly  for  a  few  moments  into  the  depths  of  its 
cheerful  glow.  Finally,  he  poured  forth  a  great  flu 
ency  of  speech.  The  generous  liquid  that  he  had  im 
bibed,  while  it  warmed  his  age-chilled  blood,  likewise 
took  off  the  chill  from  his  heart  and  mind,  ai\d  gave 
him  an  energy  to  think  and  feel,  which  we  could 
hardly  have  expected  to  find  beneath  the  snows  of 
fourscore  winters.  His  feelings,  indeed,  appeared  to 
me  more  excitable  than  those  of  a  younger  man ;  or  at 
least,  the  same  degree  of  feeling  manifested  itself  by 
more  visible  effects  than  if  his  judgment  and  will  had 
possessed  the  potency  of  meridian  life.  At  the  pa 
thetic  passages  of  his  narrative  he  readily  melted  into 
tears.  When  a  breath  of  indignation  swept  across  his 
spirit  the  blood  flushed  his  withered  visage  even  to  the 
roots  of  his  white  hair ;  and  he  shook  his  clinched  fist 
at  the  trio  of  peaceful  auditors,  seeming  to  fancy  ene 
mies  in  those  who  felt  very  kindly  towards  the  deso* 
late  old  soul.  But  ever  and  anon,  sometimes  in  the 


OLD  ESTHER  DUDLEY.  329 

midst  of  his  most  earnest  talk,  this  ancient  person's 
intellect  would  wander  vaguely,  losing  its  hold  of  the 
matter  in  hand,  and  groping  for  it  amid  misty  shad 
ows.  Then  woidd  he  cackle  forth  a  feeble  laugh,  and 
express  a  doubt  whether  his  wits  —  for  by  that  phrase 
it  pleased  our  ancient  friend  to  signify  his  mental 
powers  —  were  not  getting  a  little  the  worse  for  wear. 
Under  these  disadvantages,  the  old  loyalist's  story 
required  more  revision  to  render  it  fit  for  the  public 
eye  than  those  of  the  series  which  have  preceded  it ; 
nor  should  it  be  concealed  that  the  sentiment  and  tone 
of  the  affair  may  have  undergone  some  slight,  or  per 
chance  more  than  slight,  metamorphosis,  in  its  trans 
mission  to  the  reader  through  the  medium  of  a  thor 
ough-going  democrat.  The  tale  itself  is  a  mere  sketch, 
with  no  involution  of  plot,  nor  any  great  interest  of 
events,  yet  possessing,  if  I  have  rehearsed  it  aright, 
that  pensive  influence  over  the  mind  which  the  shadow 
of  the  old  Province  House  flings  upon  the  loiterer  in 
its  court-yard. 


The  hour  had  come  —  the  hour  of  defeat  and  hu 
miliation  —  when  Sir  William  Howe  was  to  pass  over 
the  threshold  of  the  Province  House,  and  embark,  with 
no  such  triumphal  ceremonies  as  he  once  promised 
himself,  on  board  the  British  fleet.  He  bade  his  ser 
vants  and  military  attendants  go  before  him,  and  lin 
gered  a  moment  in  the  loneliness  of  the  mansion,  to 
quell  the  fierce  emotions  that  struggled  in  his  bosom 
as  with  a  death  throb.  Preferable,  then,  would  he 
have  deemed  his  fate,  had  a  warrior's  death  left  him 
a  claim  to  the  narrow  territory  of  a  grave  within  the 
soil  which  the  King  had  given  him  to  defend.  With 


330  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

an  ominous  perception  that,  as  his  departing  footsteps 
echoed  adown  the  staircase,  the  sway  of  Britain  was 
passing  forever  from  New  England,  he  smote  his 
clinched  hand  on  his  brow,  and  cursed  the  destiny 
that  had  flung  the  shame  of  a  dismembered  empire 
upon  him. 

"  Would  to  God,"  cried  he,  hardly  repressing  his 
tears  of  rage,  "  that  the  rebels  were  even  now  at  the 
doorstep  !  A  blood-stain  upon  the  floor  should  then 
bear  testimony  that  the  last  British  ruler  was  faithful 
to  his  trust." 

The  tremulous  voice  of  a  woman  replied  to  his  ex 
clamation. 

"  Heaven's  cause  and  the  King's  are  one,"  it  said. 
"  Go  forth,  Sir  William  Howe,  and  trust  in  Heaven 
to  bring  back  a  Royal  Governor  in  triumph." 

Subduing,  at  once,  the  passion  to  which  he  had 
yielded  only  in  the  faith  that  it  was  unwitnessed,  Sir 
William  Howe  became  conscious  that  an  aged  woman, 
leaning  on  a  gold-headed  staff,  was  standing  betwixt 
him  and  the  door.  It  was  old  Esther  Dudley,  who 
had  dwelt  almost  immemorial  years  in  this  mansion, 
until  her  presence  seemed  as  inseparable  from  it  as 
the  recollections  of  its  history.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  an  ancient  and  once  eminent  family,  which  had 
fallen  into  poverty  and  decay,  and  left  its  last  de 
scendant  no  resource  save  the  bounty  of  the  King,  nor 
any  shelter  except  within  the  walls  of  the  Province 
House.  An  office  in  the  household,  with  merely  nom 
inal  duties,  had  been  assigned  to  her  as  a  pretext  for 
the  payment  of  a  small  pension,  the  greater  part  of 
which  she  expended  in  adorning  herself  with  an  an 
tique  magnificence  of  attire.  The  claims  of  Esther 
Dudley's  gentle  blood  were  acknowledged  by  all  tha 


OLD  ESTHER   DUDLEY.  331 

successive  Governors ;  and  they  treated  her  with  the 
punctilious  courtesy  which  it  was  her  foible  to  demand, 
not  always  with  success,  from  a  neglectful  world.  The 
only  actual  share  which  she  assumed  in  the  business 
of  the  mansion  was  to  glide  through  its  passages  and 
public  chambers,  late  at  night,  to  see  that  the  servants 
had  dropped  no  fire  from  their  flaring  torches,  nor 
left  embers  crackling  and  blazing  on  the  hearths. 
Perhaps  it  was  this  invariable  custom  of  walking  her 
rounds  in  the  hush  of  midnight  that  caused  the  super 
stition  of  the  times  to  invest  the  old  woman  with  at 
tributes  of  awe  and  mystery  ;  fabling  that  she  had  en 
tered  the  portal  of  the  Province  House,  none  knew 
whence,  in  the  train  of  the  first  Royal  Governor,  and 
that  it  was  her  fate  to  dwell  there  till  the  last  should 
have  departed.  But  Sir  William  Howe,  if  he  ever 
heard  this  legend,  had  forgotten  it. 

"  Mistress  Dudley,  why  are  you  loitering  here  ? " 
asked  he,  with  some  severity  of  tone.  4*  It  is  my 
pleasure  to  be  the  last  in  tin's  mansion  of  the  King." 

"  Not  so,  if  it  please  your  Excellency,''  answered 
the  time-stricken  woman.  "  This  roof  has  sheltered 
me  long.  I  will  not  pass  from  it  until  they  bear  me 
to  the  tomb  of  my  forefathers.  What  other  shelter  is 
there  for  old  Esther  Dudley,  save  the  Province  House 
or  the  grave  ?  " 

u  Now    Heaven    f  or°n  ve    me  !   '    said   Sir   William 

O 

Howe  to  himself.  '*  I  was  about  to  leave  this  wretched 
old  creature  to  starve  or  beg.  Take  this,  good  Mis 
tress  Dudley,"  he  added,  putting  a  purse  into  her 
hands.  u  King  George's  head  on  these  golden  guineas 
is  sterling  yet,  and  will  continue  so,  I  warrant  you, 
even  should  the  rebels  crown  John  Hancock  their 
king.  That  purse  will  buy  a  better  shelter  than  the 
Province  House  can  now  afford." 


332  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  While  the  burden  of  life  remains  upon  me,  I  will 
have  no  other  shelter  than  this  roof,"  persisted  Esther 
Dudley,  striking  her  staff  upon  the  floor  with  a  gest 
ure  that  expressed  immovable  resolve.  "  And  when 
your  Excellency  returns  in  triumph,  I  will  totter  into 
the  porch  to  welcome  you." 

"  My  poor  old  friend  !  "  answered  the  British  Gen 
eral,  —  and  all  his  manly  and  martial  pride  could  no 
longer  restrain  a  gush  of  bitter  tears.  "  This  is  an 
evil  hour  for  -you  and  me.  The  Province  which  the 
King  intrusted  to  my  charge  is  lost.  I  go  hence  in 
misfortune  —  perchance  in  disgrace  —  to  return  no 
more.  And  you,  whose  present  being  is  incorporated 
with  the  past  —  who  have  seen  Governor  after  Gov 
ernor,  in  stately  pageantry,  ascend  these  steps  —  whose 
whole  life  has  been  an  observance  of  majestic  cere 
monies,  and  a  worship  of  the  King  —  how  will  you 
endure  the  change  ?  Come  with  us !  Bid  farewell  to 
a  land  that  has  shaken  off  its  allegiance,  and  live  still 
under  a  royal  government,  at  Halifax." 

"  Never,  never  !  "  said  the  pertinacious  old  dame. 
"  Here  will  I  abide ;  and  King  George  shall  still  have 
one  true  subject  in  his  disloyal  Province." 

"  Beshrew  the  old  fool !  "  muttered  Sir  William 
Howe,  growing  impatient  of  her  obstinacy,  and 
ashamed  of  the  emotion  into  which  he  had  been 
betrayed.  "  She  is  the  very  moral  of  old-fashioned 
prejudice,  and  could  exist  nowhere  but  in  this  musty 
edifice.  Well,  then,  Mistress  Dudley,  since  you  will 
needs  tarry,  I  give  the  Province  House  in  charge  to 
you.  Take  this  key,  and  keep  it  safe  until  myself,  or 
some  other  Royal  Governor,  shall  demand  it  of  you." 

Smiling  bitterly  at  himself  and  her,  he  took  the 
heavy  key  of  the  Province  House,  and  delivering  it 


OLD  ESTHER   DUDLEY.  333 

into  the  old  lady's  hands,  drew  his  cloak  around  him 
for  departure.  As  the  General  glanced  back  at  Es 
ther  Dudley's  antique  figure,  he  deemed  her  well  fitted 
for  such  a  charge,  as  being  so  perfect  a  representative 
of  the  decayed  past  —  of  an  age  gone  by,  with  its 
manners,  opinions,  faith  and  feelings,  all  fallen  into 
oblivion  or  scorn  —  of  what  had  once  been  a  reality, 
but  was  now  merely  a  vision  of  faded  magnificence. 
Then  Sir  William  Howe  strode  forth,  smiting  his 
clinched  hands  together,  in  the  fierce  anguish  of  his 
spirit ;  and  old  Esther  Dudley  was  left  to  keep  watch 
in  the  lonely  Province  House,  dwelling  there  with 
memory ;  and  if  Hope  ever  seemed  to  flit  around  her, 
still  was  it  Memory  in  disguise. 

The  total  change  of  affairs  that  ensued  on  the  de 
parture  of  the  British  troops  did  not  drive  the  vener 
able  lady  from  her  stronghold.  There  was  not,  for 
many  years  afterwards,  a  Governor  of  Massachusetts ; 
and  the  magistrates,  who  had  charge  of  such  matters, 
saw  no  objection  to  Esther  Dudley's  residence  in  the 
Province  House,  especially  as  they  must  otherwise 
have  paid  a  hireling  for  taking  care  of  the  premises, 
which  with  her  was  a  labor  of  love.  And  so  they  left 
her  the  undisturbed  mistress  of  the  old  historic  edifice. 
Many  and  strange  were  the  fables  which  the  gossips 
whispered  about  her,  in  all  the  chimney  corners  of  the 
town.  Among  the  time-worn  articles  of  furniture  that 
had  been  left  in  the  mansion  there  was  a  tall,  antique 
mirror,  which  was  well  worthy  of  a  tale  by  itself,  and 
perhaps  may  hereafter  be  the  theme  of  one.  The  gold 
of  its  heavily-wrought  frame  was  tarnished,  and  its 
surface  so  blurred,  that  the  old  woman's  figure,  when 
ever  she  paused  before  it,  looked  indistinct  and  ghost 
like.  But  it  was  the  general  belief  that  Esther  could 


334  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

cause  the  Governors  of  the  overthrown  dynasty,  with 
the  beautiful  ladies  who  had  once  adorned  their  festi 
vals,  the  Indian  chiefs  who  had  come  up  to  the  Prov 
ince  House  to  hold  council  or  swear  allegiance,  the 
grim  Provincial  warriors,  the  severe  clergymen  —  in 
short,  all  the  pageantry  of  gone  days  —  all  the  figures 
that  ever  swept  across  the  broad  plate  of  glass  in 
former  times  —  she  could  cause  the  whole  to  reappear, 
and  people  the  inner  world  of  the  mirror  with  shadows 
of  old  life.  Such  legends  as  these,  together  with  the 
singularity  of  her  isolated  existence,  her  age,  and  the 
infirmity  that  each  added  winter  flung  upon  her,  made 
Mistress  Dudley  the  object  both  of  fear  and  pity ;  and 
it  was  partly  the  result  of  either  sentiment  that,  amid 
all  the  angry  license  of  the  times,  neither  wrong  nor 
insult  ever  fell  upon  her  unprotected  head.  Indeed, 
there  was  so  much  haughtiness  in  her  demeanor  to 
wards  intruders,  among  whom  she  reckoned  all  per 
sons  acting  under  the  new  authorities,  that  it  was 
really  an  affair  of  no  small  nerve  to  look  her  in  the 
face.  And  to  do  the  people  justice,  stern  republicans 
as  they  had  now  become,  they  were  well  content  that 
the  old  gentlewoman,  in  her  hoop  petticoat  arid  faded 
embroidery,  should  still  haunt  the  palace  of  ruined 
pride  and  overthrown  power,  the  symbol  of  a  departed 
system,  embodying  a  history  in  her  person.  So  Esther 
Dudley  dwelt  ysar  after  year  in  the  Province  House, 
still  reverencing  all  that  others  had  flung  aside,  still 
faithful  to  her  King,  who,  so  long  as  the  venerable 
dame  yet  held  her  post,  might  be  said  to  retain  one 
true  subject  in  New  England,  and  one  spot  of  the  em 
pire  that  had  been  wrested  from  him. 

And  did  she  dwell  there  in  utter  loneliness  ?    Rttmor 
said,  not  so.     Whenever  her  chill  and  withered  heart 


OLD   ESTHER  DUDLEY.  335 

desired  warmth,  she  was  wont  to  summon  a  black  slave 
of  Governor  Shirley's  from  the  blurred  mirror,  and 
send  him  in  search  of  guests  who  had  long  ago  been 
familiar  in  those  deserted  chambers.  Forth  went  the 
sable  messenger,  with  the  starlight  or  the  moonshine 
gleaming  through  him,  and  did  his  errand  in  the  burial 
ground,  knocking  at  the  iron  doors  of  tombs,  or  upon 
the  marble  slabs  that  covered  them,  and  whispering  to 
those  within :  4'  My  mistress,  old  Esther  Dudley,  bids 
you  to  the  Province  House  at  midnight."  And  punct- 
uallv  as  the  clock  of  the  Old  South  told  twelve  came 
the  shadows  of  the  Olivers,  the  Hutchinsons,'the  Dud 
leys,  all  the  grandees  of  a  by-gone  generation,  gliding 
beneath  the  portal  into  the  well-known  mansion,  where 
Esther  mingled  with  them  as  if  she  likewise  were  a 
shade.  Without  vouching  for  the  truth  of  such  tradi- 

O 

tions,  it  is  certain  that  Mistress  Dudley  sometimes  as 
sembled  a  few  of  the  stanch,  though  crestfallen,  old 
tories,  who  had  lingered  in  the  rebel  town  during  those 
days  of  wrath  and  tribulation.  Out  of  a  cob  webbed 
bottle,  containing  liquor  that  a  royal  Governor  might 
have  smacked  his  lips  over,  they  quaffed  healths  to 
the  King,  and  babbled  treason  to  the  Republic,  feel 
ing  as  if  the  protecting  shadow  of  the  throne  were  still 
flung  around  them.  But,  draining  the  last  drops  of 
their  liquor,  they  stole  timorously  homeward,  and  an 
swered  not  again  if  the  rude  mob  reviled  them  in  the 
street. 

Yet  Esther  Dudley's  most  frequent  and  favored 
guests  were  the  children  of  the  town.  Towards  them 
she  was  never  stern.  A  kindly  and  loving  nature, 
hindered  elsewhere  from  its  free  course  by  a  thousand 
rocky  prejudices,  lavished  itself  upon  these  little  ones. 
By  bribes  of  gingerbread  of  her  own  making,  stamped 


336  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

with  a  royal  crown,  she  tempted  their  sunny  sportive- 
ness  beneath  the  gloomy  portal  of  the  Province  House, 
and  would  often  beguile  them  to  spend  a  whole  play- 
day  there,  sitting  in  a  circle  round  the  verge  of  her 
hoop  petticoat,  greedily  attentive  to  her  stories  of  a 
dead  world.  And  when  these  little  boys  and  girls 
stole  forth  again  from  the  dark,  mysterious  mansion, 
they  went  bewildered,  full  of  old  feelings  that  graver 
people  had  long  ago  forgotten,  rubbing  their  eyes  at 
the  world  around  them  as  if  they  had  gone  astray  into 
ancient  times,  and  become  children  of  the  past.  At 
home,  when  their  parents  asked  where  they  had  loi 
tered  such  a  weary  while,  and  with  whom  they  had 
been  at  play,  the  children  would  talk  of  'all  the  de 
parted  worthies  of  the  Province,  as  far  back  as  Gov 
ernor  Belcher  and  the  haughty  dame  of  Sir  William 
Phipps.  It  would  seem  as  though  they  had  been  sit 
ting  on  the  knees  of  these  famous  personages,  whom 
the  grave  had  hidden  for  half  a  century,  and  had  toyed 
with  the  embroidery  of  their  rich  waistcoats,  or  rogu 
ishly  pulled  the  long  curls  of  their  flowing  wigs. 
"  But  Governor  Belcher  has  been  dead  this  many  a 
year,"  would  the  mother  say  to  her  little  boy.  "  And 
did  you  really  see  him  at  the  Province  House  ?  "  "  Oh 
yes,  dear  mother !  yes !  "  the  half -dreaming  child  would 
answer.  "But  when  old  Esther  had  done  speaking 
about  him  he  faded  away  out  of  his  chair."  Thus, 
without  affrighting  her  little  guests,  she  led  them  by 
the  hand  into  the  chambers  of  her  own  desolate  heart, 
and  made  childhood's  fancv  discern  the  ghosts  that 
haunted  there. 

Living  so  continually  in  her  own  circle  of  ideas,  and 
never  regulating  her  mind  by  a  proper  reference*  to 
present  things,  Esther  Dudley  appears  to  have  grown 


OLD  ESTHER  DUDLEY.  337 

partially  crazed.  It  was  found  that  she  had  no  right 
sense  of  the  progress  and  true  state  of  the  Revolution 
ary  War,  but  held  a  constant  faith  that  the  armies  of 
Britain  were  victorious  on  every  field,  and  destined 
to  be  ultimately  triumphant.  Whenever  the  town  re 
joiced  for  a  battle  won  by  Washington,  or  Gates,  or 
Morgan,  or  Greene,  the  news,  in  passing  through  the 
door  of  the  Province  House,  as  through  the  ivory  gate 
of  dreams,  became  metamorphosed  into  a  strange  tale 
of  the  prowess  of  Howe,  Clinton,  or  Cornwallis. 
Sooner  or  later  it  was  her  invincible  belief  the  colo 
nies  woidd  be  prostrate  at  the  footstool  of  the  King. 
Sometimes  she  seemed  to  take  for  granted  that  such 
was  already  the  case.  On  one  occasion,  she  startled 
the  towns-people  by  a  brilliant  illumination  of  the 
Province  House,  with  candles  at  even7  pane  of  glass, 
and  a  transparency  of  the  King's  initials  and  a  crown 
of  light  in  the  great  balcony  window.  The  figure  of 
the  aged  woman  in  the  most  gorgeous  of  her  mildewed 
velvets  and  brocades  was  seen  passing  from  casement 
to  casement,  until  she  paused  before  the  balcony,  and 
flourished  a  huge  key  above  her  head.  Her  wrinkled 
visage  actually  gleamed  with  triumph,  as  if  the  soid 
within  her  were  a  festal  lamp. 

"  What  means  this  blaze  of  light  ?  What  does  old 
Esther's  joy  portend?"  whispered  a  spectator.  "It 
is  frightful  to  see  her  gliding  about  the  chambers,  and 
rejoicing  there  without  a  soul  to  bear  her  company." 

"  It  is  as  if  she  were  making  merry  in  a  tomb," 
said  another. 

44  Pshaw  !  It  is  no  such  mystery,"  observed  an  old 
man,  after  some  brief  exercise  of  memory.  "  Mis 
tress  Dudley  is  keeping  jubilee  for  the  King  of  Eng 
land's  birthday." 

VOL.  i.  22 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Then  the  people  laughed  aloud,  and  would  have 
thrown  mud  against  the  blazing  transparency  of  the 
King's  crown  and  initials,  only  that  they  pitied  the 
poor  old  dame,  who  was  so  dismally  triumphant  amid 
the  wreck  and  ruin  of  the  system  to  which  she  apper 
tained. 

Oftentimes  it  was  her  custom  to  climb  the  weary 
staircase  that  wound  upward  to  the  cupola,  and  thence 
strain  her  dimmed  eyesight  seaward  and  countryward, 
watching  for  a  British  fleet,  or  for  the  march  of  a 
grand  procession,  with  the  King's  banner  floating  over 
it.  The  passengers  in  the  street  below  would  discern 
her  anxious  visage,  and  send  up  a  shout,  "  When  the 
golden  Indian  on  the  Province  House  shall  shoot  his 
arrow,  and  when  the  cock  on  the  Old  South  spire 
shall  crow,  then  look  for  a  Royal  Governor  again  !  " 
—  for  this  had  grown  a  byword  through  the  town. 
And  at  last,  after  long,  long  years,  old  Esther  Dudley 
knew,  or  perchance  she  only  dreamed,  that  a  Royal 
Governor  was  on  the  eve  of  returning  to  the  Province 
House,  to  receive  the  heavy  key  which  Sir  William 
Howe  had  committed  to  her  charge.  Now  it  was  the 
fact  that  intelligence  bearing  some  faint  analogy  to 
Esther's  version  of  it  was  current  among  the  towns 
people.  She  set  the  mansion  in  the  best  order  that 
her  means  allowed,  and,  arraying  herself  in  silks  and 
tarnished  gold,  stood  long  before  the  blurred  mirror 
to  admire  her  own  magnificence.  As  she  gazed,  the 
gray  and  withered  lady  moved  her  ashen  lips,  mur 
muring  half  aloud,  talking  to  shapes  that  she  saw 
within  the  mirror,  to  shadows  of  her  own  fantasies,  to 
the  household  friends  of  memory,  and  bidding  them 
rejoice  with  her  and  come  forth  to  meet  the  Governor. 
And  while  absorbed  in  this  communion,  Mistress  Dud- 


OLD  ESTHER   DUDLEY.  339 

ley  heard  the  tramp  of  many  footsteps  in  the  street, 
and,  looking  out  at  the  window,  beheld  what  she  con 
strued  as  the  Royal  Governor's  arrival. 

"  O  happy  day  !  O  blessed,  blessed  hour!  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Let  me  but  bid  him  welcome  within  the 
portal,  and  my  task  in  the  Province  House,  and  on 
earth,  is  done  !  " 

Then  with  tottering  feet,  which  age  and  tremulous 
joy  caused  to  tread  amiss,  she  hurried  down  the  grand 
staircase,  her  silks  sweeping  and  rustling  as  she  went, 
so  that  the  sound  was  as  if  a  train  of  spectral  courtiers 
were  thronging  from  the  dim  mirror.  And  Esther 
Dudley  fancied  that  as  soon  as  the  wide  door  should 
be  flung  open,  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  by-gone 
times  would  pace  majestically  into  the  Province  House, 
and  the  gilded  tapestry  of  the  past  would  be  bright 
ened  by  the  sunshine  of  the  present.  She  turned  the 
key  —  withdrew  it  from  the  lock  —  unclosed  the  door 
—  and  stepped  across  the  threshold.  Advancing  up 
the  court-yard  appeared  a  person  of  most  dignified 
mien,  with  tokens,  as  Esther  interpreted  them,  of  gen 
tle  blood,  high  rank,  and  long-accustomed  authority, 
even  in  his  walk  and  every  gesture.  He  was  richly 
dressed,  but  wore  a  gouty  shoe,  which,  however,  did 
not  lessen  the  stateliness  of  his  gait.  Around  and 
behind  him  were  people  in  plain  civic  dresses,  and  two 
or  three  war-worn  veterans,  evidently  officers  of  rank, 
arrayed  in  a  uniform  of  blue  and  buff.  But  Esther 
Dudley,  firm  in  the  belief  that  had  fastened  its  roots 
about  her  heart,  beheld  only  the  principal  personage, 
and  never  doubted  that  this  was  the  long-looked-for 
Governor,  to  whom  she  was  to  surrender  up  her 
charge.  As  he  approached,  she  involuntary  sank  down 
on  her  knees  and  tremblingly  held  forth  the  heavy 
key. 


840  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Receive  my  trust !  take  it  quickly  !  "  cried  she ; 
"  for  methinks  Death  is  striving  to  snatch  away  my 
triumph.  But  he  comes  too  late.  Thank  Heaven  for 
this  blessed  hour !  God  save  King  George !  " 

"  That,  Madam,  is  a  strange  prayer  to  be  offered  up 
at  such  a  moment,"  replied  the  unknown  guest  of  the 
Province  House,  and  courteously  removing  his  hat,  he 
offered  his  arm  to  raise  the  aged  woman.  "  Yet,  in 
reverence  for  your  gray  hairs  and  long-kept  faith, 
Heaven  forbid  that  any  here  should  say  you  nay. 
Over  the  realms  which  still  acknowledge  his  sceptre, 
God  save  King  George !  " 

Esther  Dudley  started  to  her  feet,  and  hastily 
clutching  back  the  key,  gazed  with  fearful  earnestness 
at  the  stranger ;  and  dimly  and  doubtfully,  as  if  sud 
denly  awakened  from  a  dream,  her  bewildered  eyes 
half  recognized  his  face.  Years  ago  she  had  known 
him  among  the  gentry  of  the  province.  But  the  ban 
of  the  King  had  fallen  upon  him  !  How,  then,  came 
the  doomed  victim  here  ?  Proscribed,  excluded  from 
mercy,  the  monarch's  most  dreaded  and  hated  foe, 
this  New  England  merchant  had  stood  triumphantly 
against  a  kingdom's  strength  ;  and  his  foot  now  trod 
upon  humbled  Royalty,  as  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
Province  House,  the  people's  chosen  Governor  of  Mas 
sachusetts. 

"  Wretch,  wretch  that  I  am !  "  muttered  the  old 
woman,  with  such  a  heart-broken  expression  that  the 
tears  gushed  from  the  stranger's  eyes.  "  Have  I  bid 
den  a  traitor  welcome  ?  Come,  Death !  come  quickly ! '' 

"  Alas,  venerable  lady  !  "  said  Governor  Hancock, 
lending  her  his  support  with  all  the  reverence  that  a 
courtier  would  have  shown  to  a  queen.  "  Your*  life 
has  been  prolonged  until  the  world  has  changed 


OLD   ESTHER   DUDLEY.  341 

around  you.  You  have  treasured  up  all  that  time  has 
rendered  worthless  —  the  principles,  feelings,  man 
ners,  modes  of  being  and  acting,  which  another  gen 
eration  has  flung  aside  —  and  you  are  a  symbol  of  the 
past.  And  I,  and  these  around  me  —  we  represent 
a  new  race  of  men  —  living  no  longer  in  the  past, 
scarcely  in  the  present  —  but  projecting  our  lives  for 
ward  into  the  future.  Ceasing  to  model  ourselves  on 
ancestral  superstitions,  it  is  our  faith  and  principle  to 
press  onward,  onward !  Yet,"  continued  he,  turning 
to  his  attendants,  "  let  us  reverence,  for  the  last  time, 
the  stately  and  gorgeous  prejudices  of  the  tottering 
Past !  " 

While  the  Eepublican  Governor  spoke,  he  had  con 
tinued  to  support  the  helpless  form  of  Esther  Dudley ; 
her  weight  grew  heavier  against  his  arm  ;  but  at  last, 
with  a  sudden  effort  to  free  herself,  the  ancient  woman 
sank  down  beside  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  portal. 
The  key  of  the  Province  House  fell  from  her  grasp, 
and  clanked  against  the  stone. 

"  I  have  been  faithfid  unto  death,"  murmured  she. 
"  God  save  the  King  \  " 

44  She  hath  done  her  office !  "  said  Hancock  solemnly. 
"  We  will  follow  her  reverently  to  the  tomb  of  her  an 
cestors  ;  and  then,  my  fellow-citizens,  onward  —  on 
ward  !  We  are  no  longer  children  of  the  Past ! 


As  the  old  loyalist  concluded  his  narrative,  the  en 
thusiasm  which  had  been  fitfully  flashing  within  his 
sunken  eyes,  and  quivering  across  his  wrinkled  visage, 
faded  away,  as  if  all  the  lingering  fire  of  his  soul  were 
extinguished.  Just  then,  too,  a  lamp  upon  the  man 
tel-piece  threw  out  a  dying  gleam,  which  vanished  as 


842  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

speedily  as  it  shot  upward,  compelling  our  eyes  to 
grope  for  one  another's  features  by  the  dim  glow  of 
the  hearth.  With  such  a  lingering  fire,  methought, 
with  such  a  dying  gleam,  had  the  glory  of  the  ancient 
system  vanished  from  the  Province  House,  when  the 
spirit  of  old  Esther  Dudley  took  its  flight.  And  now, 
again,  the  clock  of  the  Old  South  threw  its  voice  of 
ages  on  the  breeze,  knolling  the  hourly  knell  of  the 
Past,  crying  out  far  and  wide  through  the  multitudi 
nous  city,  and  filling  our  ears,  as  we  sat  in  the  dusky 
chamber,  with  its  reverberating  depth  of  tone.  In 
that  same  mansion  —  in  that  very  chamber  —  what  a 
volume  of  history  had  been  told  off  into  hours,  by  the 
same  voice  that  was  now  trembling  in  the  air.  Many 
a  Governor  had  heard  those  midnight  accents,  and 
longed  to  exchange  his  stately  cares  for  slumber.  And 
as  for  mine  host  and  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany  and  the  old 
loyalist  and  me,  we  had  babbled  about  dreams  of  the 
past,  until  we  almost  fancied  that  the  clock  was  still 
striking  in  a  bygone  century.  Neither  of  us  would 
have  wondered,  had  a  hoop-petticoated  phantom  of 
Esther  Dudley  tottered  into  the  chamber,  walking  her 
rounds  in  the  hush  of  midnight,  as  of  yore,  and  mo 
tioned  us  to  quench  the  fading  embers  of  the  fire,  and 
leave  the  historic  precincts  to  herself  and  her  kindred 
shades.  But  as  no  such  vision  was  vouchsafed,  I  re 
tired  unbidden,  and  would  advise  Mr.  Tiffany  to  lay 
hold  of  another  auditor,  being  resolved  not  to  show 
my  face  in  the  Province  House  for  a  good  while  hence 
—  if  ever. 


• 


THE   HAUNTED  MIND. 

WHAT  a  singular  moment  is  the  first  one,  when  you 
have  hardly  begun  to  recollect  yourself,  after  starting 
from  midnight  slumber  ?  By  unclosing  your  eyes  so 
suddenly,  you  seem  to  have  surprised  the  personages 
of  your  dream  in  full  convocation  round  your  bed, 
and  catch  one  broad  glance  at  them  before  they  can 
flit  into  obscurity.  Or,  to  vary  the  metaphor,  you  find 
yourself,  for  a  single  instant,  wide  awake  in  that  realm 
of  illusions,  whither  sleep  has  been  the  passport,  and 
behold  its  ghostly  inhabitants  and  wondrous  scenery, 
with  a  perception  of  their  strangeness  such  as  you 
never  attain  while  the  dream  is  undisturbed.  The 
distant  sound  of  a  church  clock  is  borne  faintly  on  the 
wind.  You  question  with  yourself,  half  seriously, 
whether  it  has  stolen  to  your  waking  ear  from  some 
gray  tower  that  stood  within  the  precincts  of  your 
dream.  While  yet  in  suspense,  another  clock  flings 
its  heavy  clang  over  the  slumbering  town,  with  so  full 
and  distinct  a  sound,  and  such  a  long  murmur  in  the 
neighboring  air.  that  you  are  certain  it  must  proceed 
from  the  steeple  at  the  nearest  corner.  You  count 
the  strokes  —  one  —  two,  and  there  they  cease,  with  a 
booming  sound,  like  the  gathering  of  a  third  stroke 
within  the  bell. 

If  you  could  choose  an  hour  of  wakefulness  out  of 
the  whole  night,  it  would  be  this.  Since  your  sober 
bedtime,  at  eleven,  you  have  had  rest  enough  to  take 
off  the  pressure  of  yesterday's  fatigue  ;  wrhile  before 


844  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

you,  till  the  sun  comes  from  "  far  Cathay  "  to  brighten 
your  window,  there  is  almost  the  space  of  a  summer 
night ;  one  hour  to  be  spent  in  thought,  with  the 
mind's  eye  half  shut,  and  two  in  pleasant  dreams, 
and  two  in  that  strangest  of  enjoyments,  the  forget- 
fulness  alike  of  joy  and  woe.  The  moment  of  rising 
belongs  to  another  period  of  time,  and  appears  so  dis 
tant  that  the  plunge  out  of  a  warm  bed  into  the  frosty 
air  cannot  yet  be  anticipated  with  dismay.  Yesterday 
has  already  vanished  among  the  shadows  of  the  past ; 
to-morrow  has  not  yet  emerged  from  the  future.  You 
have  found  an  intermediate  space,  where  the  business 
of  life  does  not  intrude  ;  where  the  passing  moment 
lingers,  and  becomes  truly  the  present ;  a  spot  where 
Father  Time,  when  he  thinks  nobody  is  watching  him, 
sits  down  by  the  wayside  to  take  breath.  Oh,  that 
he  would  fall  asleep,  and  let  mortals  live  on  without 
growing  older ! 

Hitherto  you  have  lain  perfectly  still,  because  the 
slightest  motion  would  dissipate  the  fragments  of  your 
slumber.  Now,  being  irrevocably  awake,  you  peep 
through  the  half-drawn  window  curtain,  and  observe 
that  the  glass  is  ornamented  with  fanciful  devices  in 
frostwork,  and  that  each  pane  presents  something  like 
a  frozen  dream.  There  will  be  time  enough  to  trace 
out  the  analogy  while  waiting  the  summons  to  break 
fast.  Seen  through  the  clear  portion  of  the  glass, 
where  the  silvery  mountain  peaks  of  the  frost  scenery 
do  not  ascend,  the  most  conspicuous  object  is  the  stee 
ple  ;  the  white  spire  of  which  directs  you  to  the  wintry 
lustre  of  the  firmament.  You  may  almost  distinguish 
the  figures  on  the  clock  that  has  just  told  the  hour. 
Such  a  frosty  sky,  and  the  snow-covered  roofs,  and*  the 
long  vista  of  the  frozen  street,  all  white,  and  the  dis- 


THE  HAUNTED  MIND.  345 

tant  water  hardened  into  rock,  might  make  you  shiver, 
even  under  four  blankets  and  a  woollen  comforter. 
Yet  look  at  that  one  glorious  star !  Its  beams  are  dis 
tinguishable  from  all  the  rest,  and  actually  cast  the 
shadow  of  the  casement  on  the  bed,  with  a  radiance  of 
deeper  hue  than  moonlight,  though  not  so  accurate  an 
outline. 

You  sink  down  and  muffle  your  head  in  the  clothes, 
shivering  all  the  while,  but  less  from  bodily  chill  than 
the  bare  idea  of  a  polar  atmosphere.  It  is  too  cold 
even  for  the  thoughts  to  venture  abroad.  You  specu 
late  on  the  luxury  of  wearing  out  a  whole  existence  in 
bed,  like  an  oyster  in  its  shell,  content  with  the  slug 
gish  ecstasy  of  inaction,  and  drowsily  conscious  of 
nothing  but  delicious  warmth,  such  as  you  now  feel 
again.  Ah !  that  idea  has  brought  a  hideous  one  in 
its  train.  You  think  how  the  dead  are  lying  in  their 
cold  shrouds  and  narrow  coffins,  through  the  drear 
winter  of  the  grave,  and  cannot  persuade  your  fancy 
that  they  neither  shrink  nor  shiver,  when  the  snow  is 
drifting  over  their  little  hillocks,  and  the  bitter  blast 
howls  against  the  door  of  the  tomb.  That  gloomy 
thought  will  collect  a  gloomy  multitude,  and  throw  its 
complexion  over  your  wakeful  hour. 

In  the  depths  of  every  heart  there  is  a  tomb  and 
a  dungeon,  though  the  lights,  the  music,  and  revelry 
above  may  cause  us  to  forget  their  existence,  and  the 
buried  ones,  or  prisoners,  whom  they  hide.  But  some 
times,  and  oftenest  at  midnight,  these  dark  receptacles 
are  flung  wide  open.  In  an  hour  like  this,  when  the 
mind  has  a  passive  sensibility,  but  no  active  strength ; 
when  the  imagination  is  a  mirror,  imparting  vividness 
to  all  ideas,  without  the  power  of  selecting  or  control 
ling  them ;  then  pray  that  your  griefs  may  slumber, 


346  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  the  brotherhood  of  remorse  not  break  their  chain. 
It  is  too  late  !  A  funeral  train  comes  gliding  by  your 
bed,  in  which  Passion  and  Feeling  assume  bodily 
shape,  and  things  of  the  mind  become  dim  spectres  to 
the  eye.  There  is  your  earliest  Sorrow,  a  pale  young 
mourner,  wearing  a  sister's  likeness  to  first  love,  sadly 
beautiful,  with  a  hallowed  sweetness  in  her  melan 
choly  features,  and  grace  in  the  flow  of  her  sable  robe. 
Next  appears  a  shade  of  ruined  loveliness,  with  dust 
among  her  golden  hair,  and  her  bright  garments  all 
faded  and  defaced,  stealing  from  your  glance  with 
drooping  head,  as  fearful  of  reproach ;  she  was  your 
fondest  Hope,  but  a  delusive  one ;  so  call  her  Disap 
pointment  now.  A  sterner  form  succeeds,  with  a  brow 
of  wrinkles,  a  look  and  gesture  of  iron  authority; 
there  is  no  name  for  him  unless  it  be  Fatality,  an  em 
blem  of  the  evil  influence  that  rules  your  fortunes ;  a 
demon  to  whom  you  subjected  yourself  by  some  error 
at  the  outset  of  life,  and  were  bound  his  slave  forever, 
by  once  obeying  him.  See  !  those  fiendish  lineaments 
graven  on  the  darkness,  the  writhed  lip  of  scorn,  the 
mockery  of  that  living  eye,  the  pointed  finger,  touch 
ing  the  sore  place  in  your  heart !  Do  you  remember 
any  act  of  enormous  folly  at  which  you  would  blush, 
even  in  the  remotest  cavern  of  the  earth  ?  Then  rec 
ognize  your  Shame. 

Pass,  wretched  band !  Well  for  the  wakeful  one,  if, 
riotously  miserable,  a  fiercer  tribe  do  not  surround 
him,  the  devils  of  a  guilty  heart,  that  holds  its  hell 
within  itself.  What  if  Remorse  should  assume  the 
features  of  an  injured  friend?  What  if  the  fiend 
should  come  in  woman's  garments,  with  a  pale  beauty 
amid  sin  and  desolation,  and  lie  down  by  your  slcle  ? 
What  if  he  should  stand  at  your  bed's  foot,  in  the 


THE   HAUNTED  MIND.  347 

likeness  of  a  corpse,  with  a  bloody  stain  upon  the 
shroud  ?  Sufficient,  without  such  guilt,  is  this  night 
mare  of  the  soul ;  this  heavy,  heavy  sinking  of  the 
spirits  ;  this  wintry  gloom  about  the  heart ;  this  indis 
tinct  horror  of  the  mind,  blending  itself  with  the  dark 
ness  of  the  chamber. 

By  a  desperate  effort  you  start  upright,  breaking 
from  a  sort  of  conscious  sleep,  and  gazing  wildly 
round  the  bed,  as  if  the  fiends  were  anywhere  but  in 
your  haunted  mind.  At  the  same  moment,  the  slum 
bering  embers  on  the  hearth  send  forth  a  gleam  which 
palely  illuminates  the  whole  outer  room,  and  flickers 
through  the  door  of  the  bed-chamber,  but  cannot 
quite  dispel  its  obscurity.  Your  eye  searches  for 
whatever  may  remind  you  of  the  living  world.  With 
eager  minuteness  you  take  note  of  the  table  near  the 
fireplace,  the  book  with  an  ivory  knife  between  its 
leaves,  the  unfolded  letter,  the  hat,  and  the  fallen 
glove.  Soon  the  flame  vanishes,  and  with  it  the  whole 
scene  is  gone,  though  its  image  remains  an  instant  in 
your  mind's  eye,  when  darkness  has  swallowed  the 
reality.  Throughout  the  chamber  there  is  the  same 
obscurity  as  before,  but  not  the  same  gloom  within 
your  breast.  As  your  head  falls  back  upon  the  pil 
low,  you  think  —  in  a  whisper  be  it  spoken  —  how 
pleasant,  in  these  night  solitudes,  would  be  the  rise 
and  fall  of  a  softer  breathing  than  your  own,  the 
slight  pressure  of  a  tenderer  bosom,  the  quiet  throb 
of  a  purer  heart,  imparting  its  peacefidness  to  your 
troubled  one,  as  if  the  fond  sleeper  were  involving 
you  in  her  dream. 

Her  influence  is  over  you,  though  she  have  no  exist 
ence  but  in  that  momentary  image.  You  sink  down  in 
a  flowery  spot,  on  the  borders  of  sleep  and  wakeful- 


348  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ness,  while  your  thoughts  rise  before  you  in  pictures, 
all  disconnected,  yet  all  assimilated  by  a  pervading 
gladsomeness  and  beauty.  The  wheeling  of  gorgeous 
squadrons  that  glitter  in  the  sun  is  succeeded  by  the 
merriment  of  children  round  the  door  of  a  school- 
house,  beneath  the  glimmering  shadow  of  old  trees,  at 
the  corner  of  a  rustic  lane.  You  stand  in  the  sunny 
rain  of  a  summer  shower,  and  wander  among  the  sunny 
trees  of  an  autumnal  wood,  and  look  upward  at  the 
brightest  of  all  rainbows,  overarching  the  unbroken 
sheet  of  snow,  on  the  American  side  of  Niagara.  Your 
mind  struggles  pleasantly  between  the  dancing  radi 
ance  round  the  hearth  of  a  young  man  and  his  recent 
bride,  and  the  twittering  flight  of  birds  in  spring 
about  their  new-made  nest.  You  feel  the  merry  bound 
ing  of  a  ship  before  the  breeze,  and  watch  the  tuneful 
feet  of  rosy  girls  as  they  twine  their  last  and  merriest 
dance  in  a  splendid  ball-room,  and  find  yourself  in  the 
brilliant  circle  of  a  crowded  theatre  as  the  curtain  falls 
over  a  light  and  airy  scene. 

With  an  involuntary  start  you  seize  hold  on  con 
sciousness,  and  prove  yourself  but  half  awake,  by  run 
ning  a  doubtful  parallel  between  human  life  and  the 
hour  which  has  now  elapsed.  In  both  you  emerge  from 
mystery,  pass  through  a  vicissitude  that  you  can  but 
imperfectly  control,  and  are  borne  onward  to  another 
mystery.  Now  comes  the  peal  of  the  distant  clock, 
with  fainter  and  fainter  strokes  as  you  plunge  farther 
into  the  wilderness  of  sleep.  It  is  the  knell  of  a  tem 
porary  death.  Your  spirit  has  departed,  and  strays, 
like  a  free  citizen,  among  the  people  of  a  shadowy 
world,  beholding  strange  sights,  yet  without  wonder  or 
dismay.  So  calm,  perhaps, will  be  the  final  change;  so 
undisturbed,  as  if  among  familiar  things  the  entrance 
of  the  soul  to  its  Eternal  home ! 


THE  VILLAGE  UNCLE. 

AX    IMAGINARY    RETROSPECT. 

COME  !  another  log  upon  the  hearth.  True,  our  lit 
tle  parlor  is  comfortable,  especially  here,  where  the  old 
man  sits  in  his  old  arm-chair ;  but  on  Thanksgiving 
night  the  blaze  should  dance  higher  up  the  chimney, 
and  send  a  shower  of  sjfarks  into  the  outer  darkness. 
Toss  on  an  armful  of  those  dry  oak  chips,  the  last  rel 
ics  of  the  Mermaid's  knee  timbers,  the  bones  of  your 
namesake,  Susan.  Higher  yet,  and  clearer  be  the 
blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  the  ruddiest  in 
the  village,  and  the  light  of  our  household  mirth  flash 
far  across  the  bay  to  Nahant.  And  now,  come,  Susan, 
come,  my  children,  draw  your  chairs  round  me,  all  of 
you.  There  is  a  dimness  over  your  figures  !  You  sit 
quivering  indistinctly  with  each  motion  of  the  blaze, 
which  eddies  about  you  like  a  flood,  so  that  you  all 
have  the  look  of  visions,  or  people  that  dwell  only  in  the 
firelight,  and  will  vanish  from  existence  as  completely 
as  your  own  shadows  when  the  flame  shall  sink  among 
the  embers.  Hark !  let  me  listen  for  the  swell  of  the 
surf ;  it  should  be  audible  a  mile  inland  on  a  night 
like  this.  Yes ;  there  I  catch  the  sound,  but  only  an 
uncertain  murmur,  as  if  a  good  way  down  over  the 
beach  ;  though,  by  the  almanac,  it  is  high  tide  at  eight 
o'clock,  and  the  billows  must  now  be  dashing  within 
thirty  yards  of  our  door.  Ah  !  the  old  man's  ears  are 
failing  him ;  and  so  is  his  eyesight,  and  perhaps  his 


350  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

mind ;  else  you  would  not  all  be  so  shadowy  in  the 
blaze  of  his  Thanksgiving  fire. 

How  strangely  the  past  is  peeping  over  the  shoulders 
of  the  present !  To  judge  by  my  recollections,  it  is 
but  a  few  moments  since  I  sat  in  another  room  ;  yonder 
model  of  a  vessel  was  not  there,  nor  the  old  chest  of 
drawers,  nor  Susan's  profile  and  mine,  in  that  gilt 
frame ;  nothing,  in  short,  except  this  same  fire,  which 
glimmered  on  books,  papers,  and  a  picture,  and  half 
discovered  my  solitary  figure  in  a  looking-glass.  But 
it  was  paler  than  my  rugged  old  self,  and  younger,  too, 
by  almost  half  a  century.  Speak  to  me,  Susan  ;  speak, 
my  beloved  ones ;  for  the  scene  is  glimmering  on  my 
sight  again,  and  as  it  brightens  you  fade  away.  Oh, 
I  should  be  loath  to  lose  my  treasure  of  past  happiness, 
and  become  once  more  what  I  was  then  ;  a  hermit  in 
the  depths  of  my  own  mind  ;  sometimes  yawning  over 
drowsy  volumes,  and  anon  a  scribbler  of  wearier  trash 
than  what  I  read ;  a  man  who  had  wandered  out  of  the 
real  world  and  got  into  its  shadow,  where  his  troubles, 
joys,  and  vicissitudes  were  of  such  slight  stuff  that  he 
hardly  knew  whether  he  lived,  or  only  dreamed  of  liv 
ing.  Thank  Heaven,  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have 
done  with  all  such  vanities. 

Still  this  dimness  of  mine  eyes !  Come  nearer,  Susan, 
and  stand  before  the  fullest  blaze  of  the  hearth.  Now 
I  behold  you  illuminated  from  head  to  foot,  in  your 
clean  cap  and  decent  gown,  with  the  dear  lock  of  gray 
hair  across  your  forehead,  and  a  quiet  smile  about  your 
mouth,  while  the  eyes  alone  are  concealed  by  the  red 
gleam  of  the  fire  upon  your  spectacles.  There,  you 
made  me  tremble  again  \  When  the  flame  quivered, 
my  sweet  Susan,  you  quivered  with  it,  and  grew  indis 
tinct,  as  if  melting  into  the  warm  light,  that  my  last 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  351 

glimpse  of  you  might  be  as  visionary  as  the  first  was, 
full  many  a  year  since.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  You 
stood  on  the  little  bridge  over  the  brook  that  runs 
across  King's  Beach  into  the  sea.  It  was  twilight ; 
the  waves  rolling  in,  the  wind  sweeping  by,  the  crim 
son  clouds  fading  in  the  west,  and  the  silver  moon 
brightening  above  the  hill;  and  on  the  bridge  were 
you,  fluttering  in  the  breeze  like  a  sea-bird  that  might 
skim  away  at  your  pleasure.  You  seemed  a  daughter 
of  the  viewless  wind,  a  creature  of  the  ocean  foam  and 
the  crimson  light,  whose  merry  life  was  spent  in  dan 
cing  on  the  crests  of  the  billows,  that  threw  up  their 
spray  to  support  your  footsteps.  As  I  drew  nearer  I 
fancied  you  akin  to  the  race  of  mermaids,  and  thought 
how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  dwell  with  you  among  the 
quiet  coves,  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  and  to  roam 
along  secluded  beaches  of  the  purest  sand  ;  and  when 
our  northern  shores  grew  bleak,  to  haunt  the  islands, 
green  and  lonely,  far  amid  summer  seas.  And  yet  it 
gladdened  me,  after  all  this  nonsense,  to  find  you  noth 
ing  but  a  pretty  young  girl,  sadly  perplexed  with  the 
rude  behavior  of  the  wind  about  your  petticoats. 

Thus  I  did  with  Susan  as  with  most  other  things  in 
my  earlier  days,  dipping  her  image  into  my  mind  and 
coloring  it  of  a  thousand  fantastic  hues,  before  I  could 
see  her  as  she  really  was.  Now,  Susan,  for  a  sober 
picture  of  our  village  !  It  was  a  small  collection  of 
dwellings  that  seemed  to  have  been  cast  up  by  the  sea, 
with  the  rockweed  and  marine  plants  that  it  vomits 
after  a  storm,  or  to  have  come  ashore  among  the  pipe 
staves  and  other  lumber  which  had  been  washed  from 
the  deck  of  an  eastern  schooner.  There  was  just 
space  for  the  narrow  and  sandy  street,  between  the 
beach  in  front  and  a  precipitous  hill  that  lifted  its 


352  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

rocky  forehead  in  the  rear,  among  a  waste  of  juniper 
bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pasture.  The 
village  was  picturesque  in  the  variety  of  its  edifices, 
though  all  were  rude.  Here  stood  a  little  old  hovel, 
built  perhaps  of  driftwood ;  there  a  row  of  boat-houses ; 
and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelling,  of  dark  and 
weather-beaten  aspect,  the  whole  intermixed  with  one 
or  two  snug  cottages,  painted  white,  a  sufficiency  of 
pigsties,  and  a  shoemaker's  shop.  Two  grocery  stores 
stood  opposite  each  other,  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
These  were  the  places  of  resort,  at  their  idle  hours,  of 
a  hardy  throng  of  fishermen,  in  red  baize  shirts,  oil 
cloth  trousers,  and  boots  of  brown  leather  covering  the 
whole  leg  ;  true  seven-league  boots,  but  fitter  to  wade 
the  ocean  than  walk  the  earth.  The  wearers  seemed 
amphibious,  as  if  they  did  but  creep  out  of  salt  water 
to  sun  themselves  ;  nor  would  it  have  been  wonderful 
to  see  their  lower  limbs  covered  with  clusters  of  little 
shell-fish,  such  as  cling  to  rocks  and  old  ship  timber 
over  which  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows.  When  their  fleet 
of  boats  was  weather-bound,  the  butchers  raised  their 
price,  and  the  spit  was  busier  than  the  frying-pan  : 
for  this  was  a  place  of  fish,  and  known  as  such,  to  all 
the  country  round  about ;  the  very  air  was  fishy,  being 
perfumed  with  dead  sculpins,  hardheads,  and  dogfish 
strewn  plentifully  on  the  beach.  You  see,  children, 
the  village  is  but  little  changed  since  your  mother 
and  I  were  young. 

How  like  a  dream  it  was,  when  I  bent  over  a  pool 
of  water  one  pleasant  morning,  and  saw  that  the  ocean 
had  dashed  its  spray  over  me  and  made  me  a  fisher 
man  !  There  were  the  tarpauling,  the  baize  shirt,  the 
oil  cloth  trousers  and  seven-league  boots,  and  there' my 
own  features,  but  so  reddened  with  sunburn  and 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE. 

breezes,  that  methought  I  had  another  face,  and  on 
other  shoulders  too.  The  sea-gulls  and  the  loons  and 
I  had  now  all  one  trade  ;  we  skimmed  the  crested 
waves  and  sought  our  prey  beneath  them,  the  man 
with  as  keen  enjoyment  as  the  birds.  Always,  when 
the  east  grew  purple,  I  launched  my  dory,  my  little 
flat-bottomed  skiff,  and  rowed  cross-handed  to  Point 
Ledge,  the  Middle  Ledge,  or,  perhaps  beyond  Egg 
Rock :  often,  too,  did  I  anchor  off  Dread  Ledge,  a  spot 
of  peril  to  ships  unpiloted  ;  and  sometimes  spread  an 
adventurous  sail  and  tracked  across  the  bay  to  South 
Shore,  casting  my  lines  in  sight  of  Scituate.  Ere 
nightfall,  I  hauled  my  skiff  high  and  dry  on  the  beach, 
laden  with  red  rock  cod,  or  the  white-bellied  ones  of 
deep  water ;  haddock,  bearing  the  black  marks  of  Saint 
Peter's  ringers  near  the  gills  ;  the  long-bearded  hake, 
whose  liver  holds  oil  enough  for  a  midnight  lamp ;  and 
now  and  then  a  mighty  halibut,  with  a  back  broad  as 
my  boat.  In  the  autumn,  I  tolled  and  caught  those 
lovely  fish,  the  mackerel.  When  the  wind  was  high, 
—  when  the  whale-boats,  anchored  off  the  Point, 
nodded  their  slender  masts  at  each  other,  and  the  do 
ries  pitched  and  tossed  in  the  surf,  —  when  Xahant 
Beach  was  thundering  three  miles  off,  and  the  spray 
broke  a  hundred  feet  in  air  round  the  distant  base  of 
Egg  Rock,  —  when  the  brimful  and  boisterous  sea 
threatened  to  tumble  over  the  street  of  our  village,  — 
then  I  made  a  holiday  on  shore. 

Many  such  a  day  did  I  sit  snugly  in  Mr.  Bartlett's 
store,  attentive  to  the  yarns  of  Uncle  Parker ;  uncle  to 
the  whole  village  by  right  of  seniority,  but  of  southern 
blood,  with  no  kindred  in  New  England.  His  figure 
is  before  me  now,  enthroned  upon  a  mackerel  barrel : 
a  lean  old  man,  of  great  height,  but  bent  with  years, 

VOL.  i.  23 


354  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  twisted  into  an  uncouth  shape  by  seven  broken 
limbs  ;  furrowed  also,  and  weather-worn,  as  if  every 
gale,  for  the  better  part  of  a  century,  had  caught  him 
somewhere  on  the  sea.  He  looked  like  a  harbinger 
of  tempest ;  a  shipmate  of  the  Flying  Dutchman. 
After  innumerable  voyages  aboard  men-of-war  and 
merchant-men,  fishing  schooners  and  chebacco  boats, 
the  old  salt  had  become  master  of  a  handcart,  which 
he  daily  trundled  about  the  vicinity,  and  sometimes 
blew  his  fish-horn  through  the  streets  of  Salem.  One 
of  Uncle  Parker's  eyes  had  been  blown  out  with  gun 
powder,  and  the  other  did  but  glimmer  in  its  socket. 
Turning  it  upward  as  he  spoke,  it  was  his  delight  to 
tell  of  cruises  against  the  French,  and  battles  with  his 
own  shipmates,  when  he  and  an  antagonist  used  to  be 
seated  astride  of  a  sailor's  chest,  each  fastened  down 
by  a  spike  nail  through  his  trousers,  and  there  to 
fight  it  out.  Sometimes  he  expatiated  on  the  delicious 
flavor  of  the  hagden,  a  greasy  and  goose-like  fowl, 
which  the  sailors  catch  with  hook  and  line  on  the 
Grand  Banks.  He  dwelt  with  rapture  on  an  inter 
minable  winter  at  the  Isle  of  Sables,  where  he  had 
gladdened  himself,  amid  polar  snows,  with  the  rum 
and  sugar  saved  from  the  wreck  of  a  West  India 
schooner.  And  wrathfully  did  he  shake  his  fist,  as 
he  related  how  a  party  of  Cape  Cod  men  had  robbed 
him  and  his  companions  of  their  lawful  spoil,  and 
sailed  away  with  every  keg  of  old  Jamaica,  leaving 
him  not  a  drop  to  drown  his  sorrow.  Villains  they 
were,  and  of  that  wicked  brotherhood  who  are  said  to 
tie  lanterns  to  horses'  tails,  to  mislead  the  mariner 
along  the  dangerous  shores  of  the  Cape. 

Even  now,  I  seem  to  see  the  group  of  fisherman, 
with  that  old  salt  in  the  midst.     One  fellow  sits  on 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  355 

the  counter,  a  second  bestrides  an  oil  barrel,  a  third 
lolls  at  his  length  on  a  parcel  of  new  cod  lines,  and 
another  has  planted  the  tarry  seat  of  his  trousers  on  a 
heap  of  salt,  which  will  shortly  be  sprinkled  over  a  lot 
of  fish.  They  are  a  likely  set  of  men.  Some  have 
voyaged  to  the  East  Indies  or  the  Pacific,  and  most  of 
them  have  sailed  in  Marblehead  schooners  to  New 
foundland  ;  a  few  have  been  no  farther  than  the  Mid 
dle  Banks,  and  one  or  two  have  always  fished  along 
the  shore  ;  but,  as  Uncle  Parker  used  to  say,  they  have 
all  been  christened  in  salt  water,  and  know  more  than 
men  ever  learn  in  the  bushes.  A  curious  figure,  by 
way  of  contrast,  is  a  fish  dealer  from  far-up  country, 
listening  with  eyes  wide  open  to  narratives  that  might 
startle  Sinbad  the  Sailor.  Be  it  well  with  you,  my 
brethren  !  Ye  are  all  gone,  some  to  your  graves  ashore, 
and  others  to  the  depths  of  ocean ;  but  my  faith  is 
strong  that  ye  are  happy ;  for  whenever  I  behold  your 
forms,  whether  in  dream  or  vision,  each  departed 
friend  is  puffing  his  long  nine,  and  a  mug  of  the  right 
black  strap  goes  round  from  lip  to  lip. 

But  where  was  the  mermaid  in  those  delightful 
times?  At  a  certain  window  near  the  centre  of  the 
village  appeared  a  pretty  display  of  gingerbread  men 
and  horses,  picture-books  and  ballads,  small  fish 
hooks,  pins,  needles,  sugar-plums,  and  brass  thimbles, 
articles  on  which  the  young  fishermen  used  to  expend 
their  money  from  pure  gallantry.  What  a  picture  was 
Susan  behind  the  counter!  A  slender  maiden,  though 
the  child  of  rugged  parents,  she  had  the  slimmest  of 
all  waists,  brown  hair  curling  on  her  neck,  and  a  com 
plexion  rather  pale,  except  when  the  sea-breeze  flushed 
it.  A  few  freckles  became  beauty-spots  beneath  her 
eyelids.  How  was  it,  Susan,  that  you  talked  and  acted 


356  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

so  carelessly,  yet  always  for  the  best,  doing  whatever 
was  right  in  your  own  eyes,  and  never  once  doing 
wrong  in  mine,  nor  shocked  a  taste  that  had  been  mor 
bidly  sensitive  till  now  ?  And  whence  had  you  that 
happiest  gift  of  brightening  every  topic  with  an  un 
sought  gayety,  quiet  but  irresistible,  so  that  even 
gloomy  spirits  felt  your  sunshine,  and  did  not  shrink 
from  it  ?  Nature  wrought  the  charm.  She  made  you 
a  frank,  simple,  kind-hearted,  sensible,  and  mirthful 
girl.  Obeying  nature,  you  did  free  things  without 
indelicacy,  displayed  a  maiden's  thoughts  to  every  eye, 
and  proved  yourself  as  innocent  as  naked  Eve. 

It  was  beautiful  to  observe  how  her  simple  and 
happy  nature  mingled  itself  with  mine.  She  kindled  a 
domestic  fire  within  my  heart,  and  took  up  her  dwell 
ing  there,  even  in  that  chill  and  lonesome  cavern, 
hung  round  with  glittering  icicles  of  fancy.  She  gave 
me  warmth  of  feeling,  while  the  influence  of  my  mind 
made  her  contemplative.  I  taught  her  to  love  the 
moonlight  hour,  when  the  expanse  of  the  encircled 
bay  was  smooth  as  a  great  mirror  and  slept  in  a  trans 
parent  shadow ;  while  beyond  Nahant  the  wind  rippled 
the  dim  ocean  into  a  dreamy  brightness,  which  grew 
faint  afar  off  without  becoming  gloomier.  I  held  her 
hand  and  pointed  to  the  long  surf  wave,  as  it  rolled 
calmly  on  the  beach,  in  an  unbroken  line  of  silver ; 
we  were  silent  together  till  its  deep  and  peaceful  mur 
mur  had  swept  by  us.  When  the  Sabbath  sun  shone 
down  into  the  recesses  of  the  cliffs,  I  led  the  mermaid 
thither,  and  told  her  that  those  huge,  gray,  shattered 
rocks,  and  her  native  sea,  that  raged  forever  like  a 
storm  against  them,  and  her  own  slender  beauty  in 
so  stern  a  scene,  were  all  combined  into  a  strati  of 
poetry.  But  on  the  Sabbath  eve,  when  her  mother 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  357 

had  gone  early  to  bed,  and  her  gentle  sister  had  smiled 
and  left  us,  as  we  sat  alone  by  the  quiet  hearth,  with 
household  things  around,  it  was  her  turn  to  make  me 
feel  that  here  was  a  deeper  poetry,  and  that  this  was 
the  dearest  hour  of  all.  Thus  went  on  our  wooing  till 
I  had  shot  wild  fowl  enough  to  feather  our  bridal  bed, 
and  the  Daughter  of  the  Sea  was  mine. 

I  built  a  cottage  for  Susan  and  myself,  and  made  a 
gateway  in  the  form  of  a  Gothic  arch,  by  setting  up  a 
whale's  jaw-bones.  TTe  bought  a  heifer  with  her  first 
calf,  and  had  a  little  garden  on  the  hill-side,  to  supply 
us  with  potatoes  and  green  sauce  for  our  fish.  Our 
parlor,  small  and  neat,  was  ornamented  with  our  two 
profiles  in  one  gilt  frame,  and  with  shells  and  pretty 
pebbles  on  the  mantel-piece,  selected  from  the  sea's 
treasury  of  such  things,  on  Xahant  Beach.  On  the 
desk,  beneath  the  looking-glass,  lay  the  Bible,  which  I 
had  begun  to  read  aloud  at  the  book  of  Genesis,  and 
the  singing-book  that  Susan  used  for  her  evening 
psalm.  Except  the  almanac,  we  had  no  other  litera 
ture.  All  that  I  heard  of  books  was  when  an  Indian 
history,  or  tale  of  shipwreck,  was  sold  by  a  pedlar  or 
wandering  subscription  man,  to  some  one  in  the  vil 
lage,  and  read  through  its  owner's  nose  to  a  slumber 
ous  auditory.  Like  my  brother  fishermen,  I  grew  into 
the  belief  that  all  human  erudition  was  collected  in 
our  pedagogue,  whose  green  spectacles  and  solemn 
phiz,  as  he  passed  to  his  little  school-house  amid  a 
waste  of  sand,  might  have  gained  him  a  diploma  from 
any  college  in  New  England.  In  truth  I  dreaded  him. 
When  our  children  were  old  enough  to  claim  his  care, 
you  remember,  Susan,  how  I  frowned,  though  you 
were  pleased,  at  this  learned  man's  encomiums  on 
their  proficiency.  I  feared  to  trust  them  even  with 
the  alphabet ;  it  was  the  key  to  a  fatal  treasure. 


858  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

But  I  loved  to  lead  them  by  their  little  hands  along 
the  beach,  and  point  to  nature  in  the  vast  and  the 
minute,  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  green  earth,  the  pebbles, 
and  the  shells.  Then  did  I  discourse  of  the  mighty 
works  and  coextensive  goodness  of  the  Deity,  with  the 
simple  wisdom  of  a  man  whose  mind  had  profited  by 
lonely  days  upon  the  deep,  and  his  heart  by  the  strong 
and  pure  affections  of  his  evening  home.  Sometimes 
my  voice  lost  itself  in  a  tremulous  depth ;  for  I  felt 
His  eye  upon  me  as  I  spoke.  Once,  while  my  wife 
and  all  of  us  were  gazing  at  ourselves,  in  the  mirror 
left  by  the  tide  in  a  hollow  of  the  sand,  I  pointed  to 
the  pictured  heaven  below,  and  bade  her  observe  how 
religion  was  strewn  everywhere  in  our  path ;  since 
even  a  casual  pool  of  water  recalled,  the  idea  of  that 
home  whither  we  were  travelling,  to  rest  forever  with 
our  children.  Suddenly,  your  image,  Susan,  and  all 
the  little  faces  made  up  of  yours  and  mine,  seemed  to 
fade  away  and  vanish  around  me,  leaving  a  pale  visage 
like  my  own  of  former  days  within  the  frame  of  a 
large  looking-glass.  Strange  illusion ! 

My  life  glided  on,  the  past  appearing  to  mingle 
with  the  present  and  absorb  the  future,  till  the  whole 
lies  before  me  at  a  glance.  My  manhood  has  long 
been  waning  with  a  stanch  decay ;  my  earlier  contem 
poraries,  after  lives  of  unbroken  health,  are  all  at  rest, 
without  having  known  the  weariness  of  later  age  ;  and 
now,  with  a  wrinkled  forehead  and  thin  white  hair  as 
badges  of  my  dignity,  I  have  become  the  patriarch, 
the  Uncle  of  the  village.  I  love  that  name  ;  it  wid 
ens  the  circle  of  my  sympathies ;  it  joins  all  the  youth 
ful  to  my  household  in  the  kindred  of  affection. 

Like  Uncle  Parker,  whose  rheumatic  bones  were 
dashed  against  Egg  Rock,  full  forty  years  ago,  I  am 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  359 

a  spinner  of  long  yarns.  Seated  on  the  gunwale  of  a 
dory,  or  on  the  sunny  side  of  a  boat-house,  where  the 
warmth  is  grateful  to  my  limbs,  or  by  my  own  hearth, 
when  a  friend  or  two  are  there,  I  overflow  with  talk, 
and  yet  am  never  tedious.  With  a  broken  voice  I 
give  utterance  to  much  wisdom.  Such,  Heaven  be 
praised !  is  the  vigor  of  my  facidties,  that  many  a  for 
gotten  usage,  and  traditions  ancient  in  my  youth,  and 
early  adventures  of  myself  or  others,  hitherto  effaced 
by  things  more  recent,  acquire  new  distinctness  in  my 
memory.  I  remember  the  happy  days  when  the  had 
dock  were  more  numerous  on  all  the  fishing  grounds 
than  sculpins  in  the  surf;  when  the  deep-water  cod 
swam  close  in  shore,  and  the  dogfish,  with  his  poison 
ous  horn,  had  not  learned  to  take  the  hook.  I  can 
number  every  equinoctial  storm  in  which  the  sea  has 
overwhelmed  the  street,  flooded  the  cellars  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  hissed  upon  our  kitchen  hearth.  I  give  the 
history  of  the  great  whale  that  was  landed  on  Whale 
Beach,  and  whose  jaws,  being  now  my  gateway,  will 
last  for  ages  after  my  coffin  shall  have  passed  beneath 
them.  Thence  it  is-  an  easy  digression  to  the  halibut, 
scarcely  smaller  than  the  whale,  which  ran  out  six  cod 
lines,  and  hauled  my  dory  to  the  mouth  of  Boston  Har 
bor,  before  I  could  touch  him  with  the  gaff. 

If  melancholy  accidents  be  the  theme  of  conversa 
tion,  I  tell  how  a  friend  of  mine  was  taken  out  of  his 
boat  by  an  enormous  shark  ;  and  the  sad,  true  tale  of 
a  young  man  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  who  had  been 
nine  days  missing,  when  his  drowned  body  floated  into 
the  very  pathway,  on  Marblehead  Neck,  that  had  often 
led  him  to  the  dwelling  of  his  bride,  —  as  if  the  drip 
ping  corpse  would  have  come  where  the  mourner  was. 
With  such  awful  fidelity  did  that  lover  return  to  fulfil 


360  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

his  vows  !  Another  favorite  story  is  of  a  crazy  maiden 
who  conversed  with  angels  and  had  the  gift  of  proph 
ecy,  and  whom  all  the  village  loved  and  pitied,  though 
she  went  from  door  to  door  accusing  us  of  sin,  exhort 
ing  to  repentance,  and  foretelling  our  destruction  by 
flood  or  earthquake.  If  the  young  men  boast  their 
knowledge  of  the  ledges  and  sunken  rocks,  I  speak  of 
pilots  who  knew  the  wind  by  its  scent  and  the  wave 
by  its  taste,  and  could  have  steered  blindfold  to  any 
port  between  Boston  and  Mount  Desert,  guided  only 
by  the  rote  of  the  shore,  —  the  peculiar  sound  of  the 
surf  on  each  island,  beach,  and  line  of  rocks,  along 
the  coast.  Thus  do  I  talk,  and  all  my  auditors  grow 
wise  while  they  deem  it  pastime. 

I  recollect  no  happier  portion  of  my  life  than  this, 
my  calm  old  age.  It  is  like  the  sunny  and  sheltered 
slope  of  a  valley,  where,  late  in  the  autumn,  the  grass 
is  greener  than  in  August,  and  intermixed  with  golden 
dandelions  that  have  not  been  seen  till  now,  since  the 
first  warmth  of  the  year.  But  with  me  the  verdure 
and  the  flowers  are  not  frost-bitten  in  the  midst  of  win 
ter.  A  playfulness  has  revisited  my  mind  ;  a  sympa 
thy  with  the  young  and  gay  ;  an  unpainful  interest  in 
the  business  of  others  ;  a  light  and  wandering  curi 
osity  ;  arising,  perhaps,  from  the  sense  that  my  toil  on 
earth  is  ended,  and  the  brief  hour  till  bedtime  may 
be  spent  in  play.  Still  I  have  fancied  that  there  is  a 
depth  of  feeling  and  reflection  under  -this  -superficial 
levity  peculiar  to  one  who  has  lived  long  and  is  soon 
to  die. 

Show  me  anything  that  would  make  an  infant 
smile,  and  you  shall  behold  a  gleam  of  mirth  over  the 
hoary  ruin  of  my  visage.  I  can  spend  a  pleasant  hour 
in  the  sun,  watching  the  sports  of  the  village  children 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  361 

on  the  edge  of  the  surf :  now  they  chase  the  retreat 
ing  wave  far  down  over  the  wet  sand  ;  now  it  steals 
softly  up  to  kiss  their  naked  feet ;  now  it  comes  on 
ward  with  threatening  front,  and  roars  after  the  laugh 
ing  crew,  as  they  scamper  beyond  its  reach.  "Why 
should  not  an  old  man  be  merry  too,  when  the  great 
sea  is  at  play  with  those  little  children  ?  I  delight, 
also,  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  pleasure  party  of  young 
men  and  girls,  strolling  along  the  beach  after  an  early 
supper  at  the  Point.  Here,  with  handkerchiefs  at 
nose,  they  bend  over  a  heap  of  eel-grass,  entangled  in 
which  is  a  dead  skate,  so  oddly  accoutred  with  two 
legs  and  a  long  tail  that  they  mistake  him  for  a 
drowned  animal.  A  few  steps  farther  the  ladies 
scream,  and  the  gentlemen  make  ready  to  protect 
them  against  a  young  shark  of  the  dogfish  kind,  roll 
ing  with  a  lifelike  motion  in  the  tide  that  has  thrown 
him  up.  Next,  they  are  smit  with  wonder  at  the  black 
shells  of  a  wagon  load  of  live  lobsters,  packed  in  rock- 
weed  for  the  country  market.  And  when  they  reach 
the  fleet  of  dories,  just  haided  ashore  after  the  day's 
fishing,  how  do  I  laugh  in  my  sleeve,  and  sometimes 
roar  outright,  at  the  simplicity  of  these  young  folks 
and  the  sly  humor  of  the  fishermen !  In  winter, 
when  our  village  is  thrown  into  a  bustle  by  the  arrival 
of  perhaps  a  score  of  country  dealers,  bargaining  for 
frozen  fish,  to  be  transported  hundreds  of  miles,  and 
eaten  fresh  in  Vermont  or  Canada,  I  am  a  pleased  but 
idle  spectator  in  the  throng.  For  I  launch  my  boat 
no  more. 

When  the  shore  was  solitary  I  have  found  a  pleas 
ure  that  seemed  even  to  exalt  my  mind,  in  observing 
the  sports  or  contentions  of  two  gulls,  as  they  wheeled 
and  hovered  about  each  other,  with  hoarse  screams, 


362  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

one  moment  flapping  on  the  foam  of  the  wave,  and 
then  soaring  aloft,  till  their  white  bosoms  melted  into 
the  upper  sunshine.  In  the  calm  of  the  summer  sun 
set  I  drag  my  aged  limbs,  with  a  little  ostentation  of 
activity,  because  I  am  so  old,  up  to  the  rocky  brow  of 
the  hill.  There  I  see  the  white  sails  of  many  a  ves 
sel,  outward  bound  or  homeward  from  afar,  and  the 
black  trail  of  a  vapor  behind  the  eastern  steamboat ; 
there,  too,  is  the  sun  going  down,  but  not  in  gloom, 
and  there  the  illimitable  ocean  mingling  with  the  sky, 
to  remind  me  of  Eternity. 

But  sweetest  of  all  is  the  hour  of  cheerful  musing 
and  pleasant  talk,  that  comes  between  the  dusk  and 
the  lighted  candle,  by  my  glowing  fireside.  And  never, 
even  on  the  first  Thanksgiving  night,  when  Susan  and 
I  sat  alone  with  our  hopes,  nor  the  second,  when  a 
stranger  had  been  sent  to  gladden  us,  and  be  the  visi 
ble  image  of  our  affection,  did  I  feel  such  joy  as  now. 
All  that  belong  to  me  are  here  ;  Death  has  taken  none, 
nor  Disease  kept  them  away,  nor  Strife  divided  them 
from  their  parents  or  each  other ;  with  neither  poverty 
nor  riches  to  disturb  them,  nor  the  misery  of  desires 
beyond  their  lot,  they  have  kept  New  England's  festi 
val  round  the  patriarch's  board.  For  I  am  a  patriarch! 
Here  I  sit  among  my  descendants,  in  my  old  arm-chair 
and  immemorial  corner,  while  the  firelight  throws  an 
appropriate  glory  round  my  venerable  frame.  Susan ! 
My  children !  Something  whispers  me  that  this  hap 
piest  hour  must  be  the  final  one,  and  that  nothing  re 
mains  but  to  bless  you  all,  and  depart  with  a  treasure 
of  recollected  joys  to  heaven.  Will  you  meet  me 
there  ?  Alas !  your  figures  grow  indistinct,  fading  into 
pictures  on  the  air,  and  now  to  fainter  outlines,  while 
the  fire  is  glimmering  on  the  walls  of  a  familiar  room, 


THE    VILLAGE   UNCLE.  363 

and  shows  the  book  that  I  flung  down,  and  the  sheet 
that  I  left  half  written,  some  fifty  years  ago.  I  lift 
my  eyes  to  the  looking-glass  and  perceive  myself  alone, 
unless  those  be  the  mermaid's  features  retiring  into 
the  depths  of  the  mirror  with  a  tender  and  melancholy 
smile. 

Ah !  one  feels  a  dullness,  not  bodily,  but  about  the 
heart,  and,  moreover,  a  foolish  dread  of  looking  behind 
him,  after  these  pastimes.  I  can  imagine  precisely 
how  a  magician  would  sit  down  in  gloom  and  terror, 
after  dismissing  the  shadows  that  had  personated  dead 
or  distant  people,  and  stripping  his  cavern  of  the  un 
real  splendor  which  had  changed  it  to  a  palace.  And 
now  for  a  moral  to  my  reverie.  Shall  it  be  that,  since 
fancy  can  create  so  bright  a  dream  of  happiness,  it 
were  better  to  dream  on  from  youth  to  age,  than  to 
awake  and  strive  doubtfully  for  something  real.  Oh, 
the  slight  tissue  of  a  dream  can  no  more  preserve  us 
from  the  stern  reality  of  misfortune  than  a  robe  of 
cobweb  could  repel  the  wintry  blast.  Be  this  the 
moral  then.  In  chaste  and  warm  affections,  humble 
wishes,  and  honest  toil  for  some  useful  end,  there  is 
health  for  the  mind,  and  quiet  for  the  heart,  the  pros 
pect  of  a  happy  life,  and  the  fairest  hope  of  heaven. 


THE  AMBITIOUS   GUEST. 

ONE  September  night  a  fami]/  had  gathered  round 
their  hearth,  and  piled  it  high  with  the  driftwood  of 
mountain  streams,  the  dry  cones  of  the  pine,  and  the 
splintered  ruins  of  great  trees  that  had  come  crashing 
down  the  precipice.  Up  the  chimney  roared  the  firer 
and  brightened  the  room  with  its  broad  blaze.  The 
faces  of  the  father  and  mother  had  a  sober  gladness ; 
the  children  laughed ;  the  eldest  daughter  was  the 
image  of  Happiness  at  seventeen ;  and  the  aged  grand 
mother,  who  sat  knitting  in  the  warmest  place,  was  the 
image  of  Happiness  grown  old.  They  had  found  the 
"  herb,  heart's-ease,"  in  the  bleakest  spot  of  all  New 
England.  This  family  were  situated  in  the  Notch  of 
the  White  Hills,  where  the  wind  was  sharp  throughout 
the  year,  and  pitilessly  cold  in  the  winter,  —  giving 
their  cottage  all  its  fresh  inclemency  before  it  de 
scended  on  the  valley  of  the  Saco.  They  dwelt  in  a 
cold  spot  and  a  dangerous  one ;  for  a  mountain  tow 
ered  above  their  heads,  so  steep,  that  the  stones  would 
often  rumble  down  its  sides  and  startle  them  at  mid 
night. 

The  daughter  had  just  uttered  some  simple  jest  tha'i 
filled  them  all  with  mirth,  when  the  wind  came  through 
the  Notch  and  seemed  to  pause  before  their  cottage  — 
rattling  the  door,  with  a  sound  of  wailing  and  lamen 
tation,  before  it  passed  into  the  valley.  For  a  moment 
it  saddened  them,  though  there  was  nothing  unusual  in 
the  tones.  But  the  family  were  glad  again  when  they 


THE  AMBITIOUS   GUEST.  365 

perceived  that  the  latch  was  lifted  by  some  traveller, 
whose  footsteps  had  been  unheard  amid  the  dreary 
blast  which  heralded  his  approach,  and  wailed  as  he 
was  entering,  and  went  moaning  away  from  the  door. 

Though  they  dwelt  in  such  a  solitude,  these  people 
held  daily  converse  with  the  world.  The  romantic  pass 
of  the  Notch  is  a  great  artery,  through  which  the  life- 
blood  of  internal  commerce  is  continually  throbbing 
between  Maine,  on  one  side,  and  the  Green  Mountains 
and  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  on  the  other.  The 
stage-coach  always  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the 
cottage.  The  wayfarer,  with  no  companion  but  his 
staff,  paused  here  to  exchange  a  word,  that  the  sense 
of  loneliness  might  not  utterly  overcome  him  ere  he 
could  pass  through  the  cleft  of  the  mountain,  or  reach 
the  first  house  in  the  valley.  And  here  the  teamster, 
on  his  way  to  Portland  market,  woidd  put  up  for  the 
night ;  and,  if  a  bachelor,  might  sit  an  hour  beyond 
the  usual  bedtime,  and  steal  a  kiss  from  the  mountain 
maid  at  parting.  It  was  one  of  those  primitive  tav 
erns  where  the  traveller  pays  only  for  food  and  lodg 
ing,  but  meets  with  a  homely  kindness  beyond  all  price. 
When  the  footsteps  were  heard,  therefore,  between  the 
outer  door  and  the  inner  one,  the  whole  family  rose  up, 
grandmother,  children,  and  all,  as  if  about  to  welcome 
some  one  who  belonged  to  them,  and  whqse  fate  was 
linked  with  theirs. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  young  man.  His  face  at 
first  wore  the  melancholy  expression,  almost  despond 
ency,  of  one  who  travels  a  wild  and  bleak  road,  at 
nightfall  and  alone,  but  soon  brightened  up  when  he 
saw  the  kindly  warmth  of  his  reception.  He  felt  his 
heart  spring  forward  to  meet  them  all,  from  the  old 
woman,  who  wiped  a  chair  with  her  apron,  to  the  little 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

child  that  held  out  its  arms  to  him.  One  glance  and 
smile  placed  the  stranger  on  a  footing  of  innocent 
familiarity  with  the  eldest  daughter. 

"  Ah,  this  fire  is  the  right  thing  !  "  cried  he;  "espe 
cially  when  there  is  such  a  pleasant  circle  round  it.  I 
am  quite  benumbed ;  for  the  Notch  is  just  like  the 
pipe  of  a  great  pair  of  bellows ;  it  has  blown  a  terrible 
blast  in  my  face  all  the  way  from  Bartlett." 

"  Then  you  are  going  towards  Vermont  ?  "  said  the 
master  of  the  house,  as  he  helped  to  take  a  light  knap 
sack  off  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

"  Yes  ;  to  Burlington,  and  far  enough  beyond,"  re 
plied  he.  "  I  meant  to  have  been  at  Ethan  Crawford's 
to-night;  but  a  pedestrian  lingers  along  such  a  road  as 
this.  It  is  no  matter  ;  for,  when  I  saw  this  good  fire, 
and  all  your  cheerful  faces,  I  felt  as  if  you  had  kindled 
it  on  purpose  for  me,  and  were  waiting  my  arrival. 
So  I  shall  sit  down  among  you,  and  make  myself  at 
home." 

The  frank-hearted  stranger  had  just  drawn  his  chair 
to  the  fire  when  something  like  a  heavy  footstep  was 
heard  without,  rushing  down  the  steep  side  of  the 
mountain,  as  with  long  and  rapid  strides,  and  taking- 
such  a  leap  in  passing  the  cottage  as  to  strike  the  op 
posite  precipice.  The  family  held  their  breath,  be 
cause  they  knew  the  sound,  and  their  guest  held  his  by 
instinct. 

"  The  old  mountain  has  thrown  a  stone  at  us,  for 
fear  we  should  forget  him,"  said  the  landlord,  recover 
ing  himself.  "  He  sometimes  nods1  his  head  and 
threatens  to  come  down  ;  but  we  are  old  neighbors, 
and  agree  together  pretty  well  upon  the  whole.  Be- 
sides  we  have  a  sure  place  of  refuge  hard  by  if  he 
should  be  coming  in  good  earnest." 


THE  AMBITIOUS   GUEST.  367 

Let  us  now  suppose  the  stranger  to  have  finished  his 
supper  of  bear's  meat ;  and,  by  his  natural  felicity  of 
manner,  to  have  placed  himself  on  a  footing  of  kind 
ness  with  the  whole  family,  so  that  they  talked  as 
freely  together  as  if  he  belonged  to  their  mountain 
brood.  He  was  of  a  proud,  yet  gentle  spirit  —  haughty 
and  reserved  among  the  rich  and  great ;  but  ever  ready 
to  stoop  his  head  to  the  lowly  cottage  door,  and  be  like 
a  brother  or  a  son  at  the  poor  man's  fireside.  In  the 
household  of  the  Notch  he  found  warmth  and  simplicity 
of  feeling,  the  pervading  intelligence  of  New  England, 
and  a  poetry  of  native  growth,  which  they  had  gath 
ered  when  they  little  thought  of  it  from  the  mountain 
peaks  and  chasms,  and  at  the  very  threshold  of  their 
romantic  and  dangerous  abode.  He  had  travelled  far 
and  alone ;  his  whole  life,  indeed,  had  been  a  solitary 
path ;  for,  with  the  lofty  caution  of  his  nature,  he  had 
kept  himself  apart  from  those  who  might  otherwise 
have  been  his  companions.  The  family,  too,  though 
so  kind  and  hospitable,  had  that  consciousness  of  unity 
among  themselves,  and  separation  from  the  world  at 
large,  which,  in  every  domestic  circle,  shoidd  still  keep 
a  holy  place  where  110  stranger  may  intrude.  But  this 
evening  a  prophetic  sympathy  impelled  the  refined 
and  educated  youth  to  pour  out  his  teart  before  the 
simple  mountaineers,  and  constrained  them  to  answer 
him  with  the  same  free  confidence.  And  thus  it  should 
have  been.  Is  not  the  kindred  of  a  common  fate  a 
closer  tie  than  that  of  birth  ? 

The  secret  of  the  young  man's  character  was  a  high 
and  abstracted  ambition.  He  could  have  borne  to  live 
an  undistinguished  life,  but  not  to  be  forgotten  in  the 
grave.  Yearning  desire  had  been  transformed  to  hope ; 
and  hope,  long  cherished,  had  become  like  certainty, 


868  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

that,  obscurely  as  he  journeyed  now,  a  glory  was  to 
beam  on  all  his  pathway,  —  though  not,  perhaps,  while 
he  was  treading  it.  But  when  posterity  should  gaze 
back  into  the  gloom  of  what  was  now  the  present,  they 
would  trace  the  brightness  of  his  footsteps,  brightening 
as  meaner  glories  faded,  and  confess  that  a  gifted  one 
had  passed  from  his  cradle  to  his  tomb  with  none  to 
recognize  him. 

44  As  yet,"  cried  the  stranger  —  his  cheek  glowing 
and  his  eye  flashing  with  enthusiasm  — "  as  yet,  I 
have  done  nothing.  Were  I  to  vanish  from  the  earth 
to-morrow,  none  would  know  so  much  of  me  as  you : 
that  a  nameless  youth  came  up  at  nightfall  from  the 
valley  of  the  Saco,  and  opened  his  heart  to  you  in  the 
evening,  and  passed  through  the  Notch  by  sunrise, 
and  was  seen  no  more.  Not  a  soul  would  ask,  4  Who 
was  he  ?  Whither  did  the  wanderer  go  ? '  But  I 
cannot  die  till  I  have  achieved  my  destiny.  Then,  let 
Death  come  !  I  shall  have  built  my  monument !  " 

There  was  a  continual  flow  of  natural  emotion,  gush 
ing  forth  amid  abstracted  reverie,  which  enabled  the 
family  to  understand  this  young  man's  sentiments, 
though  so  foreign  from  their  own.  With  quick  sensi 
bility  of  the  ludicrous,  he  blushed  at  the  ardor  into 
which  he  had  ^en  betrayed. 

"  You  laugh  at  me,"  said  he,  taking  the  eldest 
daughter's  hand,  and  laughing  himself.  "  You  think 
my  ambition  as  nonsensical  as  if  I  were  to  freeze  my 
self  to  death  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  only 
that  people  might  spy  at  me  from  the  country  round 
about.  And,  truly,  that  would  be  a  noble  pedestal  for 
a  man's  statue  !  " 

"  It  is  better  to  sit  here  by  this  fire,"  answered' the 
girl,  blushing,  "  and  be  comfortable  and  contented, 
though  nobody  thinks  about  us." 


THE  AMBITIOUS   GUEST.  369 

"  I  suppose,"  said  her  father,  after  a  fit  of  musing, 
"  there  is  something  natural  in  what  the  young  man 
says  ;  and  if  my  mind  had  been  turned  that  way,  I 
might  have  felt  just  the  same.  It  is  strange,  wife, 
how  his  talk  has  set  my  head  running  on  things  that 
are  pretty  certain  never  to  come  to  pass." 

"  Perhaps  they  may,"  observed  the  wife.  "  Is  the 
man  thinking  what  he  will  do  when  he  is  a  widower  ?  " 

"  Xo,  no !  "  cried  he,  repelling  the  idea  with  re 
proachful  kindness.  "  When  I  think  of  your  death, 
Esther,  I  think  of  mine,  too.  But  I  was  wishing  we 
had  a  good  farm  in  Bartlett,  or  Bethlehem,  or  Little 
ton,  or  some  other  township  round  the  White  Mount 
ains  ;  but  not  where  they  could  tumble  on  our  heads. 
I  should  want  to  stand  well  with  my  neighbors  and  be 
called  Squire,  and  sent  to  General  Court  for  a  term  or 
two ;  for  a  plain,  honest  man  may  do  as  much  good 
there  as  a  lawyer.  And  when  I  should  be  grown  quite 
an  old  man,  and  you  an  old  woman,  so  as  not  to  be 
long  apart,  I  might  die  happy  enough  in  my  bed,  and 
leave  you  all  crying  around  me.  A  slate  gravestone 
would  suit  me  as  well  as  a  marble  one  —  with  just  my 
name  and  age,  and  a  verse  of  a  hymn,  and  something 
to  let  people  know  that  I  lived  an  honest  man  and  died 
a  Christian." 

"  There  now  !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger  ;  "  it  is  our 
nature  to  desire  a  monument,  be  it  slate  or  marble,  or 
a  pillar  of  granite,  or  a  glorious  memory  in  the  uni 
versal  heart  of  man." 

"  We  're  in  a  strange  way,  to-night,"  said  the  wife, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  They  say  it 's  a  sign  of 
something,  when  folks'  minds  go  a  wandering  so. 
Hark  to  the  children  !  " 

They  listened  accordingly.     The  younger  children 
VOL.  i.  24 


370  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

had  been  put  to  bed  in  another  room,  but  with  an 
open  door  between,  so  that  they  could  be  heard  talk 
ing  busily  among  themselves.  One  and  all  seemed  to 
have  caught  the  infection  from  the  fireside  circle,  and 
were  outvying  each  other  in  wild  wishes,  and  childish 
projects  of  what  they  would  do  when  they  came  to  be 
men  and  women.  At  length  a  little  boy,  instead  of 
addressing  his  brothers  and  sisters,  called  out  to  his 
mother. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  wish,  mother,"  cried  he.  "  I 
want  you  and  father  and  grandma'm,  and  all  of  us, 
and  the  stranger  too,  to  start  right  away,  and  go  and 
take  a  drink  out  of  the  basin  of  the  Flume  !  " 

Nobody  could  help  laughing  at  the  child's  notion  of 
leaving  a  warm  bed,  and  dragging  them  from  a  cheer- 
fid  fire,  to  visit  the  basin  of  the  Flume,  —  a  brook, 
which  tumbles  over  the  precipice,  deep  within  the 
Notch.  The  boy  had  hardly  spoken  when  a  wagon 
rattled  along  the  road,  and  stopped  a  moment  before 
the  door.  It  appeared  to  contain  two  or  three  men, 
who  were  cheering  their  hearts  with  the  rough  chorus 
of  a  song,  which  resounded,  in  broken  notes,  between 
the  cliffs,  while  the  singers  hesitated  whether  to  con 
tinue  their  journey  or  put  up  here  for  the  night." 

"  Father,"  said  the  girl,  "  they  are  calling  you  by 
name." 

But  the  good  man  doubted  whether  they  had  really 
called  him,  and  was  unwilling  to  show  himself  too 
solicitous  of  gain  by  inviting  people  to  patronize  his 
house.  He  therefore  did  not  hurry  to  the  door ;  and 
the  lash  being  soon  applied,  the  travellers  plunged 
into  the  Notch,  still  singing  and  laughing,  though 
their  music  and  mirth  came  back  drearily  from'  the 
heart  of  the  mountain. 


THE  AMBITIOUS   GUEST.  371 

"  There,  mother  !  "  cried  the  boy.  again.  "  They  'd 
have  given  us  a  ride  to  the  Flume." 

Again  they  laughed  at  the  child's  pertinacious  fancy 
for  a  night  ramble.  But  it  happened  that  a  light  cloud 
passed  over  the  daughter's  spirit ;  she  looked  gravely 
into  the  fire,  and  drew  a  breath  that  was  almost  a  sigh. 
It  forced  its  way,  in  spite  of  a  little  struggle  to  re 
press  it.  Then  starting  and  blushing,  she  looked 
quickly  round  the  circle,  as  if  they  had  caught  a 
glimpse  into  her  bosom.  The  stranger  asked  what  she 
had  been  thinking  of. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  she,  with  a  downcast  smile. 
"  Only  I  felt  lonesome  just  then." 

"  Oh,  I  have  always  had  a  gift  of  feeling  what  is  in 
other  people's  hearts,"  said  he,  half  seriously.  "  Shall 
I  tell  the  secrets  of  yours  ?  For  I  know  what  to  think 
when  a  young  girl  shivers  by  a  warm  hearth,  and  com 
plains  of  lonesorneness  at  her  mother's  side.  Shall  I 
put  these  feelings  into  words  ?  " 

4;  They  would  not  be  a  girl's  feelings  any  longer  if 
they  could  be  put  into  words,"  replied  the  mountain 
nymph,  laughing,  but  avoiding  his  eye. 

All  this  was  said  apart.  Perhaps  a  germ  of  love 
was  springing  in  their  hearts,  so  pure  that  it  might 
blossom  in  Paradise,  since  it  coidd  not  be  matured  on 
earth  ;  for  women  worship  such  gentle  dignity  as  his  ; 
and  the  proud,  contemplative,  yet  kindly  soul  is  often- 
est  captivated  by  simplicity  like  hers.  But  while  they 
spoke  softly,  and  he  was  watching  the  happy  sadness, 
the  lightsome  shadows,  the  shy  yearnings  of  a  maiden's 
nature,  the  wind  through  the  Notch  took  a  deeper  and 
drearier  sound.  It  seemed,  as  the  fanciful  stranger 
said,  like  the  choral  strain  of  the  spirits  of  the  blast 
who  in  old  Indian  times  had  their  dwelling  among 


372  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

these  mountains,  and  made  their  heights  and  recesses 
a  sacred  region.  There  was  a  wail  along  the  road,  as 
if  a  funeral  were  passing.  To  chase  away  the  gloom, 
the  family  threw  pine  branches  on  their  fire,  till  the 
dry  leaves  crackled  and  the  flame  arose,  discovering 
once  again  a  scene  of  peace  and  humble  happiness. 
The  light  hovered  about  them  fondly,  and  caressed 
them  all.  There  were  the  little  faces  of  the  children, 
peeping  from  their  bed  apart,  and  here  the  father's 
frame  of  strength,  the  mother's  subdued  and  careful 
mien,  the  high-browed  youth,  the  budding  girl,  and 
the  good  old  grandam,  still  knitting  in  the  warmest 
place.  The  aged  woman  looked  up  from  her  task, 
and,  with  fingers  ever  busy,  was  the  next  to  speak. 

"  Old  folks  have  their  notions,"  said  she,  "  as  well 
as  young  ones.  You  've  been  wishing  and  planning ; 
and  letting  your  heads  run  on  one  thing  and  another, 
till  you  've  set  my  mind  a  wandering  too.  Now  what 
should  an  old  woman  wish  for,  when  she  can  go  but  a 
step  or  two  before  she  comes  to  her  grave  ?  Children, 
it  will  haunt  me  night  and  day  till  I  tell  you." 

"  What  is  it,  mother  ?  "  cried  the  husband  and  wife 
at  once. 

Then  the  old  woman,  with  an  air  of  mystery  which 
drew  the  circle  closer  round  the  fire,  informed  them 
that  she  had  provided  her  grave-clothes  some  years  be 
fore,  —  a  nice  linen  shroud,  a  cap  with  a  muslin  ruff, 
and  everything  of  a  finer  sort  than  she  had  worn  since 
her  wedding  day.  But  this  evening  an  old  supersti 
tion  had  strangely  recurred  to  her.  It  used  to  be  said, 
in  her  younger  days,  that  if  anything  were  amiss  with 
a  corpse,  if  only  the  ruff  were  not  smooth,  or  the  cap 
did  not  set  right,  the  corpse  in  the  coffin  and  beneath 
the  clods  would  strive  to  put  up  its  cold  hands  and 
arrange  it.  The  bare  thought  made  her  nervous. 


THE   AMBITIOUS   GUEST.  373 

"  Don't  talk  so,  grandmother  !  "  said  the  girl,  shud 
dering. 

"  Now,"  —  continued  the  old  woman,  with  singular 
earnestness,  yet  smiling  strangely  at  her  own  folly,  — 
"  I  want  one  of  you,  my  children  —  when  your  mother 
is  dressed  and  in  the  coffin  —  I  want  one  of  you  to 
hold  a  looking-glass  over  my  face.  Who  knows  but 
I  may  take  a  glimpse  at  myself,  and  see  whether  all 's 
right?" 

"  Old  and  young,  we  dream  of  graves  and  monu 
ments,"  murmured  the  stranger  youth.  "  I  wonder 
how  mariners  feel  when  the  ship  is  sinking,  and  they, 
unknown  and  undistinguished,  are  to  be  buried  to 
gether  in  the  ocean  —  that  wide  and  nameless  sep 
ulchre?" 

For  a  moment,  the  old  woman's  ghastly  conception 
so  engrossed  the  minds  of  her  hearers  that  a  sound 
abroad  in  the  night,  rising  like  the  roar  of  a  blast, 
had  grown  broad,  deep,  and  terrible,  before  the  fated 
group  were  conscious  of  it.  The  house  and  all  within 
it  trembled  ;  the  foundations  of  the  earth  seemed  to 
be  shaken,  as  if  this  awful  sound  were  the  peal  of 
the  last  trump.  Young  and  old  exchanged  one  wild 
glance,  and  remained  an  instant,  pale,  affrighted,  with 
out  utterance,  or  power  to  move.  Then  the  same 
shriek  burst  simultaneously  from  all  their  lips. 

« The  Slide!  The  Slide!" 

The  simplest  words  must  intimate,  but  not  portray, 
the  unutterable  horror  of  the  catastrophe.  The  vic 
tims  rushed  from  their  cottage,  and  sought  refuge  in 
what  they  deemed  a  safer  spot  —  where,  in  contempla 
tion  of  such  an  emergency,  a  sort  of  barrier  had  been 
reared.  Alas!  they  had  quitted  their  security,  and 
fled  right  into  the  pathway  of  destruction.  Down 


374  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

came  the  whole  side  of  the  mountain,  in  a  cataract 
of  ruin.  Just  before  it  reached  the  house,  the  stream 
broke  into  two  branches  —  shivered  not  a  window 
there,  but  overwhelmed  the  whole  vicinity,  blocked  up 
the  road,  and  annihilated  everything  in  its  dreadful 
course.  Long  ere  the  thunder  of  the  great  Slide  had 
ceased  to  roar  among  the  mountains,  the  mortal  agony 
had  been  endured,  and  the  victims  were  at  peace. 
Their  bodies  were  never  found. 

The  next  morning,  the  light  smoke  was  seen  steal 
ing  from  the  cottage  chimney  up  the  mountain  side. 
Within,  the  fire  was  yet  smouldering  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  chairs  in  a  circle  round  it,  as  if  the  inhabit 
ants  had  but  gone  forth  to  view  the  devastation  of  the 
Slide,  and  would  shortly  return,  to  thank  Heaven  for 
their  miraculous  escape.  All  had  left  separate  tokens, 
by  which  those  who  had  known  the  family  were  made 
to  shed  a  tear  for  each.  Who  has  not  heard  their 
name  ?  The  story  has  been  told  far  and  wide,  and 
will  forever  be  a  legend  of  these  mountains.  Poets 
have  sung  their  fate. 

There  were  circumstances  which  led  some  to  sup 
pose  that  a  stranger  had  been  received  into  the  cottage 
on  this  awful  night,  and  had  shared  the  catastrophe  of 
all  its  inmates.  Others  denied  that  there  were  suffi 
cient  grounds  for  such  a  conjecture.  Woe  for  the 
high-souled  youth,  with  his  dream  of  Earthly  Immor 
tality  !  His  name  and  person  utterly  unknown ;  his 
history,  his  way  of  life,  his  plans,  a  mystery  never  to 
be  solved,  his  death  and  his  existence  equally  a  doobtJ 
Whose  was  the  agony  of  that  death  moment  ? 


THE   SISTER  YEARS. 

LAST  night,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock, 
when  the  Old  Year  was  leaving  her  final  footprints  on 
the  borders  of  Time's  empire,  she  found  herself  in 
possession  of  a  few  spare  moments,  and  sat  down  — 
of  all  places  in  the  world  —  on  the  steps  of  our  new 
City  Hall.  The  wintry  moonlight  showed  that  she 
looked  weary  of  body  and  sad  of  heart,  like  many  an 
other  wayfarer  of  earth.  Her  garments,  having  been 
exposed  to  much  foul  weather  and  rough  usage,  were 
in  very  ill  condition ;  and  as  the  hurry  of  her  journey 
had  never  before  allowed  her  to  take  an  instant's  rest, 
her  shoes  were  so  worn  as  to  be  scarcely  worth  the 
mending.  But,  after  trudging  only  a  little  distance 
farther,  this  poor  Old  Y^ear  was  destined  to  enjoy  a 
long,  long  sleep.  I  forgot  to  mention  that,  when  she 
seated  herself  on  the  steps,  she  deposited  by  her  side 
a  very  capacious  bandbox,  in  which,  as  is  the  custom 
among  travellers  of  her  sex,  she  carried  a  great  deal 
of  valuable  property.  Besides  this  luggage,  there  was 
a  folio  book  under  her  arm,  very  much  resembling  the 
annual  volume  of  a  newspaper.  Placing  this  volume 
across  her  knees,  and  resting  her  elbows  upon  it,  with 
her  forehead  in  her  hands,  the  weary,  bedraggled, 
world-worn  Old  Year  heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and  ap 
peared  to  be  taking  no  very  pleasant  retrospect  of  her 
past  existence. 

While  she  thus  awaited  the  midnight  knell  that 
was  to  summon  her  to  the  innumerable  sisterhood  of 


876  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

departed  Years,  there  came  a  young  maiden  treading 
lightsomely  on  tiptoe  along  the  street,  from  the  direc 
tion  of   the   Railroad   Depot.     She  was  evidently  a 
stranger,  and  perhaps  had  come  to  town  by  the  even 
ing  train  of  cars.     There  was  a  smiling  cheerfulness 
in  this  fair  maiden's  face,  which  bespoke  her  fully 
confident  of  a  kind  reception  from  the  multitude  of 
people  with  whom  she  was  soon  to  form  acquaintance. 
Her  dress  was  rather  too  airy  for  the  season,  and  was 
bedizened  with  fluttering  ribbons  and  other  vanities, 
which  were  likely  soon  to  be  rent  away  by  the  fierce 
storms  or  to  fade  in  the  hot  sunshine,  amid  which  she 
was  to  pursue  her  changeful  course.     But  still  she  was 
a  wonderfully  pleasant  looking  figure,  and  had  so  much 
promise  and  such  an  indescribable  hopefulness  in  her 
aspect,  that  hardly  anybody  could  meet  her  without  an 
ticipating  some  very  desirable  thing  —  the  consumma 
tion  of  some  long-sought  good  —  from  her  kind  offices. 
A  few  dismal  characters  there  may  be,  here  and  there 
about  the  world,  who  have  so  often  been  trifled  with 
by  young  maidens  as  promising  as  she,  that  they  have 
now  ceased  to  pin  any  faith  upon  the  skirts  of  the 
New  Year.     But,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  great  faith 
in  her ;  and  should  I  live  to  see  fifty  more  such,  still, 
from  each  of  these  successive  sisters,  I  shall  reckon 
upon  receiving  something  that  will  be  worth  living  for. 
The  New  Year  —  for  this  young  maiden  was  no  less 
a  personage  —  carried  all  her  goods  and  chattels  in  a 
basket  of  no  great  size  or  weight,  which  hung  upon 
her  arm.     She  greeted  the  disconsolate  Old  Year  with 
great  affection,  and  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  steps 
of  the  City  Hall,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  begin  her 
rambles  through  the  world.    The  two  were  own  sisters, 
being  both  granddaughters  of  Time ;  and  though  one 


THE   SISTER   YEARS.  377 

looked  so  much  older  than  the  other,  it  was  rather 
owing  to  hardships  and  trouble  than  to  age,  since 
there  was  but  a  twelvemonth's  difference  between 
them. 

4i  Well,  my  dear  sister,"  said  the  New  Year,  after 
the  first  salutations,  "  you  look  almost  tired  to  death. 
What  have  you  been  about  during  your  sojourn  in  this 
part  of  Infinite  Space  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  it  all  recorded  here  in  my  Book  of 
Chronicles,"  answered  the  Old  Year,  in  a  heavy  tone. 
"  There  is  nothing  that  would  amuse  you  ;  and  you 
will  soon  get  sufficient  knowledge  of  such  matters 
from  your  own  personal  experience.  It  is  but  tire 
some  reading." 

Nevertheless,  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  folio, 
and  glanced  at  them  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  feeling 
an  irresistible  spell  of  interest  in  her  own  biography, 
although  its  incidents  were  remembered  without  pleas 
ure.  The  volume,  though  she  termed  it  her  Book  of 
Chronicles,  seemed  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
"  Salem  Gazette  "  for  1838  ;  in  the  accuracy  of  which 
journal  this  sagacious  Old  Year  had  so  much  confi 
dence  that  she  deemed  it  needless  to  record  her  his 
tory  with  her  own  pen. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  in  the  political  way  ?  " 
asked  the  New  Year. 

"  Why,  my  course  here  in  the  United  States,"  said 
the  Old  Year,  —  ki  though  perhaps  I  ought  to  blush  at 
the  confession,  —  my  political  course,  I  must  acknowl 
edge,  has  been  rather  vacillatory,  sometimes  inclining 
towards  the  Whigs  —  then  causing  the  Administra 
tion  party  to  shout  for  triumph  -—and  now  again  up 
lifting  what  seemed  the  almost  prostrate  banner  of 
the  Opposition  ;  so  that  historians  will  hardly  know 


378  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

what  to  make  of  me  in  this  respect.  But  the  Loco 
Focos  "  — 

"  I  do  not  like  these  party  nicknames,"  interrupted 
her  sister,  who  seemed  remarkably  touchy  about  some 
points.  "  Perhaps  we  shall  part  in  better  humor  if 
we  avoid  any  political  discussion." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  Old  Year,  who 
had  already  been  tormented  half  to  death  with  squab 
bles  of  this  kind.  "  I  care  not  if  the  names  of  Whig 
or  Tory,  with  their  interminable  brawls  about  Banks 
and  the  Sub-Treasury,  Abolition,  Texas,  the  Florida 
War,  and  a  million  of  other  topics  —  which  you  will 
learn  soon  enough  for  your  own  comfort  —  I  care  not, 
I  say,  if  no  whisper  of  these  matters  ever  reaches  my 
ears  again.  Yet  they  have  occupied  so  large  a  share 
of  my  attention  that  I  scarcely  know  what  else  to  tell 
you.  There  has  indeed  been  a  curious  sort  of  war  on 
the  Canada  border,  where  blood  has  streamed  in  the 
names  of  Liberty  and  Patriotism ;  but  it  must  remain 
for  some  future,  perhaps  far  distant  Year,  to  tell 
whether  or  no  those  holy  names  have  been  rightfully 
invoked.  Nothing  so  much  depresses  me,  in  my  view 
of  mortal  affairs,  as  to  see  high  energies  wasted,  and 
human  life  and  happiness  thrown  away,  for  ends  that 
appear  oftentimes  unwise,  and  still  oftener  remain  un 
accomplished.  But  the  wisest  people  and  the  best 
keep  a  steadfast  faith  that  the  progress  of  Mankind 
is  onward  and  upward,  and  that  the  toil  and  anguish 
of  the  path  serve  to  wear  away  the  imperfections  of 
the  Immortal  Pilgrim,  and  will  be  felt  no  more  when 
they  have  done  their  office." 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  the  hopeful  New  Year,  —  "  per 
haps  I  shall  see  that  happy  day  !  " 

"  I  doubt  whether  it  be  so  close  at  hand,"  answered 


THE   SISTER    YEARS  879 

the  Old  Year,  gravely  smiling.  "  You  will  soon  grow 
weary  of  looking  for  that  blessed  consummation,  and 
will  turn  for  amusement  (as  has  frequently  been  my 
own  practice)  to  the  affairs  of  some  sober  little  city, 
like  this  of  Salem.  Here  we  sit  on  the  steps  of  the 
new  City  Hall,  which  has  been  completed  under  my 
administration  ;  and  it  would  make  you  laugh  to  see 
how  the  game  of  politics,  of  which  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  is  the  great  chess-board,  is  here  played 
in  miniature.  Burning  Ambition  finds  its  fuel  here; 
here  Patriotism  speaks  boldly  in  the  people's  behalf, 
and  virtuous  Economy  demands  retrenchment  in  the 
emoluments  of  a  lamplighter ;  here  the  Aldermen 
range  their  senatorial  dignity  around  the  Mayor's 
chair  of  state,  and  the  Common  Council  feel  that  they 
have  liberty  in  charge.  In  short,  human  weakness 
and  strength,  passion  and  policy,  Man's  tendencies, 
his  aims  and  modes  of  pursuing  them,  his  individual 
character  and  his  character  in  the  mass,  may  be 
studied  almost  as  well  here  as  on  the  theatre  of  na 
tions:  and  with  this  great  advantage,  that,  be  the 
lesson  ever  so  disastrous,  its  Liliputian  scope  still 
makes  the  beholder  smile." 

"  Have  you  done  much  for  the  improvement  of  the 
City?"  asked  the  New  Year.  "Judging  from  what 
little  I  have  seen,  it  appears  to  be  ancient  and  time- 
worn." 

"  I  have  opened  the  Railroad,"  said  the  elder  Year, 
"  and  half  a  dozen  times  a  day  you  will  hear  the  bell 
(which  once  summoned  the  Monks  of  a  Spanish  Con 
vent  to  their  devotions)  announcing  the  arrival  or 
departure  of  the  cars.  Old  Salem  now  wears  a  much 
livelier  expression  than  when  I  first  beheld  her. 
Strangers  rumble  down  from  Boston  by  hundreds 


880  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

at  a  time.  New  faces  throng  in  Essex  Street.  Rail 
road  hacks  and  omnibuses  rattle  over  the  pavements. 
There  is  a  perceptible  increase  of  oyster  shops,  and 
other  establishments  for  the  accommodation  of  a  tran 
sitory  diurnal  multitude.  But  a  more  important 
change  awaits  the  venerable  town.  An  immense  ac 
cumulation  of  musty  prejudices  will  be  carried  off  by 
the  free  circulation  of  society.  A  peculiarity  of  char 
acter,  of  which  the  inhabitants  themselves  are  hardly 
sensible,  will  be  rubbed  down  and  worn  away  by  the 
attrition  of  foreign  substances.  Much  of  the  result 
will  be  good  ;  there  will  likewise  be  a  few  things  not 
so  good.  Whether  for  better  or  worse,  there  will  be 
a  probable  diminution  of  the  moral  influence  of 
wealth,  and  the  sway  of  an  aristocratic  class,  which, 
from  an  era  far  beyond  my  memory,  has  held  firmer 
dominion  here  than  in  any  other  New  England  town." 

The  Old  Year  having  talked  away  nearly  all  of 
her  little  remaining  breath,  now  closed  her  Book  of 
Chronicles,  and  was  about  to  take  her  departure.  But 
her  sister  detained  her  a  while  longer,  by  inquiring 
the  contents  of  the  huge  bandbox  which  she  was  so 
painfully  lugging  along  with  her. 

"These  are  merely  a  few  trifles,"  replied  the  Old 
Year,  "which  I  have  picked  up  in  my  rambles,  and 
am  going  to  deposit  in  the  receptacle  of  things  past 
and  forgotten.  We  sisterhood  of  Years  never  carry 
anything  really  valuable  out  of  the  world  with  us. 
Here  are  patterns  of  most  of  the  fashions  which  I 
brought  into  vogue,  and  which  have  already  lived  out 
their  allotted  term.  You  will  supply  their  place  with 
others  equally  ephemeral.  Here,  put  up  in  little 
China  pots,  like  rouge,  is  a  considerable  lot  of  beauti 
ful  women's  bloom,  which  the  disconsolate  fair  ones 


THE   SISTER  YEARS.  381 

ewe  me  a  bitter  grudge  for  stealing.  I  have  likewise 
a  quantity  of  men's  dark  hair,  instead  of  which,  I  have 
left  gray  locks,  or  none  at  all.  The  tears  of  widows 
and  other  afflicted  mortals,  who  have  received  com 
fort  during  the  last  twelve  months,  are  preserved  in 
some  dozens  of  essence  bottles,  well  corked  and  sealed. 
I  have  several  bundles  of  love-letters,  eloquently 
breathing  an  eternity  of  burning  passion,  which  grew 
cold  and  perished  almost  before  the  ink  was  dry. 
Moreover,  here  is  an  assortment  of  many  thousand 
broken  promises,  and  other  broken  ware,  all  very  light 
and  packed  into  little  space.  The  heaviest  articles 
in  my  possession  are  a  large  parcel  of  disappointed 
hopes,  which  a  little  while  ago  were  buoyant  enough 
to  have  inflated  Mr.  Lauriat's  balloon." 

"  I  have  a  fine  lot  of  hopes  here  in  my  basket," 
remarked  the  New  Year.  "  They  are  a  sweet-smelling 
flower  —  a  species  of  rose." 

"  They  soon  lose  their  perfume,"  replied  the  sombre 
Old  Year.  "  What  else  have  you  brought  to  insure  a 
welcome  from  the  discontented  race  of  mortals?" 

"  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  little  or  nothing  else,"  said 
her  sister,  with  a  smile,  — "'"  save  a  few  new  Annuals 
and  Almanacs,  and  some  New  Year's  gifts  for  the 
children.  But  I  heartily  wish  well  to  poor  mortals, 
and  mean  to  do  all  I  can  for  their  improvement  and 
happiness." 

"  It  is  a  good  resolution,"  rejoined  the  Old  Year ; 
"  and,  by  the  way,  I  have  a  plentiful  assortment  of 
good  resolutions,  which  have  now  grown  so  stale  and 
musty  that  I  am  ashamed  to  carry  them  any  farther. 
Only  for  fear  that  the  City  authorities  would  send  Con 
stable  Mansfield  with  a  warrant  after  me,  I  should  toss 
them  into  the  street  at  once.  Many  other  matters  go 


382  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

to  make  up  the  contents  of  my  bandbox,  but  the  whole 
lot  would  not  fetch  a  single  bid,  even  at  an  auction  of 
worn-out  furniture  ;  and  as  they  are  worth  nothing 
either  to  you  or  anybody  else.  I  need  not  trouble  you 
with  a  longer  catalogue." 

"  And  must  I  also  pick  up  such  worthless  luggage  in 
my  travels  ?  "  asked  the  New  Year. 

"  Most  certainly  —  and  well,  if  you  have  no  heavier 
load  to  bear,"  replied  the  other.  "And  now,  my  dear 
sister,  I  must  bid*  you  farewell,  earnestly  advising  and 
exhorting  you  to  expect  no  gratitude  nor  good-will  from 
this  peevish,  unreasonable,  inconsiderate,  ill-intending, 
and  worse-behaving  world.  However  warmly  its  in 
habitants  may  seem  to  welcome  you,  yet,  do  what  you 
may,  and  lavish  on  them  what  means  of  happiness  you 
please,  they  will  still  be  complaining,  still  craving  what 
it  is  not  in  your  power  to  give,  still  looking  forward  to 
some  other  Year  for  the  accomplishment  of  projects 
which  ought  never  to  have  been  formed,  and  which,  if 
successful,  would  only  provide  new  occasions  of  dis 
content.  If  these  ridiculous  people  ever  see  anything 
tolerable  in  you,  it  will  be  after  you  are  gone  for 
ever." 

"But  I,"  cried  the  fresh-hearted  New  Year,  "I 
shall  try  to  leave  men  wiser  than  I  find  them.  I  will 
offer  them  freely  whatever  good  gifts  Providence  per 
mits  me  to  distribute,  and  will  tell  them  to  be  thankful 
for  what  they  have,  and  humbly  hopeful  for  more ;  and 
surely,  if  they  are  not  absolute  fools,  they  will  conde 
scend  to  be  happy,  and  will  allow  me  to  be  a  happy 
Year.  For  my  happiness  must  depend  on  them." 

"  Alas  for  you,  then,  my  poor  sister !  "  said  the  Old 
Year,  sighing,  as  she  uplifted  her  burden.  "We, 
grandchildren  of  Time,  are  born  to  trouble.  Happi- 


THE  SISTER   TEARS. 

ness,  they  say.  dwells  in  the  mansions  of  Eternity; 
but  we  can  only  lead  mortals  thither,  step  by  step,  with 
reluctant  murmurings,  and  ourselves  must  perish  on 
the  threshold.  But  hark  I  my  task  is  done."' 

The  clock  in  the  tall  steeple  of  Dr.  Emerson's 
church  struck  twelve ;  there  was  a  response  from  Dr. 
Flint's,  in  the  opposite  quarter  of  the  city :  and  while 
the  strokes  were  yet  dropping  into  the  air.  the  Old 
Year  either  flitted  or  faded  away,  —  and  not  the  wis 
dom  and  might  of  Angels,  to  say  nothing  of  the  re 
morseful  yearnings  of  the  millions  who  had  used  her 
ill,  could  have  prevailed  with  that  departed  Year  to 
return  one  step.  But  she,  in  the  company  of  Time 
and  all  her  kindred,  must  hereafter  hold  a  reckoning 
with  Mankind.  So  shall  it  be,  likewise,  with  the  maid 
enly  New  Year,  who,  as  the  clock  ceased  to  strike,  arose 
from  the  steps  of  the  City  Hall,  and  set  out  rather 
timorously  on  her  earthly  course. 

-•  A  happy  New  Year ! "  cried  a  watchman,  eying 
her  figure  very  questionably,  but  without  the  least 
suspicion  that  he  was  addressing  the  New  Year  in 
person. 

~  Thank  you  kindly !  said  the  New  Year ;  and  she 
gave  the  watchman  one  of  the  roses  of  hope  from  her 
basket.  ~  May  this  flower  keep  a  sweet  smell,  long 
after  I  have  bidden  you  good-by." 

Then  she  stepped  on  more  briskly  through  the  silent 
streets :  and  such  as  were  awake  at  the  moment  heard 
her  footfall,  and  said.  —  "  The  New  Year  is  come ! ' 
Wherever  there  was  a  knot  of  midnight  roisterers  they 
quaffed  her  health.  She  sighed,  however,  to  perceive 
that  the  air  was  tainted  —  as  the  atmosphere  of  this 
world  must  continually  be  —  with  the  dying  breaths  of 
mortals  who  had  lingered  just  long  enough  for  her  to 


384  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

bury  them.  But  there  were  millions  left  alive  to 
rejoice  at  her  coming;  and  so  she  pursued  her  way 
with  confidence,  strewing  emblematic  flowers  on  the 
doorstep  of  almost  every  dwelling,  which  some  persons 
will  gather  up  and  wear  in  their  bosoms,  and  others 
will  trample  under  foot.  The  Carrier  Boy  can  only 
say  further  that,  early  this  morning,  she  filled  his  bas 
ket  with  New  Year's  Addresses,  assuring  him  that  the 
whole  City,  with  our  new  Mayor,  and  the  Aldermen 
and  Common  Council  at  its  head,  would  make  a  general 
rush  to  secure  copies.  Kind  Patrons,  will  not  you  re 
deem  the  pledge  of  the  NEW  YEAR? 


SNOW-FLAKES. 

THERE  is  snow  in  yonder  cold  gray  sky  of  the 
morning  !  —  and;  through  the  partially  frosted  win 
dow  panes,  I  love  to  watch  the  gradual  beginning  of 
the  storm.  A  few  feathery  flakes  are  scattered  widely 
through  the  air,  and  hover  downward  with  uncertain 

o 

flight,  now  almost  alighting  on  the  earth,  now  whirled 
again  aloft  into  remote  regions  of  the  atmosphere. 
These  are  not  the  big  flakes,  heavy  with  moisture, 
which  melt  as  they  touch  the  ground,  and  are  porten 
tous  of  a  soaking  rain.  It  is  to  be,  in  good  earnest,  a 
wintry  storm.  The  two  or  three  people  visible  011  the 
sidewalks  have  an  aspect  of  endurance,  a  blue-nosed, 
frosty  fortitude,  which  is  evidently  assumed  in  antici 
pation  of  a  comfortless  and  blustering  day.  By  night 
fall,  or  at  least  before  the  sun  sheds  another  glimmer 
ing  smile  upon  us,  the  street  and  our  little  garden  will 
be  heaped  with  mountain  snow-drifts.  The  soil,  al 
ready  frozen  for  weeks  past,  is  prepared  to  sustain 
whatever  burden  may  be  laid  upon  it ;  and,  to  a 
northern  eye,  the  landscape  will  lose  its  melancholy 
bleakness  and  acquire  a  beauty  of  its  own,  when 
Mother  Earth,  like  her  children,  shall  have  put  on 
the  fleecy  garb  of  her  winter's  wear.  The  cloud 
spirits  are  slowly  weaving  her  white  mantle.  As  yet, 
indeed,  there  is  barely  a  rime  like  hoarfrost  over  the 
brown  surface  of  the  street ;  the  withered  grass  of  the 
grass-plat  is  still  discernible  ;  and  the  slated  roofs  of 
the  houses  do  but  begin  to  look  gray  instead  of  black. 

VOL.  i  25 


386  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

All  the  snow  that  has  yet  fallen  within  the  circumfer 
ence  of  my  view,  were  it  heaped  up  together,  would 
hardly  equal  the  hillock  of  a  grave.  Thus  gradually, 
by  silent  and  stealthy  influences,  are  great  changes 
wrought.  These  little  snow  particles,  which  the  storm 
spirit  flings  by  handfuls  through  the  air,  will  bury  the 
great  earth  under  their  accumulated  mass,  nor  permit 
her  to  behold  her  sister  sky  again  for  dreary  months . 
We,  likewise,  shall  lose  sight  of  our  mother's  familiar 
visage,  and  must  content  ourselves  with  looking  heaven 
ward  the  oftener. 

Now,  leaving  the  storm  to  do  his  appointed  office, 
let  us  sit  down,  pen  in  hand,  by  our  fireside.  Gloomy 
as  it  may  seem,  there  is  an  influence  productive  of 
cheerfulness,  and  favorable  to  imaginative  thought,  in 
the  atmosphere  of  a  snowy  day.  The  native  of  a 
southern  clime  may  woo  the  muse  beneath  the  heavy 
shade  of  summer  foliage,  reclining  on  banks  of  turf, 
while  the  sound  of  singing  birds  and  warbling  rivulets 
chimes  in  with  the  music  of  his  soul.  In  our  brief 
summer,  I  do  not  think,  but  only  exist  in  the  vague 
enjoyment  of  a  dream.  My  hour  of  inspiration  —  if 
that  hour  ever  comes  —  is  when  the  green  log  hisses 
upon  the  hearth,  and  the  bright  flame,  brighter  for  the 
gloom  of  the  chamber,  rustles  high  up  the  chimney, 
and  the  coals  drop  tinkling  down  among  the  glowing 
heaps  of  ashes.  When  the  casement  rattles  in  the 
gust,  and  the  snow-flakes  or  the  sleety  raindrops  pelt 
hard  against  the  window  panes,  then  I  spread  out  my 
sheet  of  paper,  with  the  certainty  that  thoughts  and 
fancies  will  gleam  forth  upon  it  like  stars  at  twilight, 
or  like  violets  in  May,  —  perhaps  to  fade  as  soon. 
However  transitory  their  glow,  they  at  least  shine 
amid  the  darksome  shadow  which  the  clouds  of  the 


SNOW-FLAKES.  387 

outward  sky  fling  through  the  room.  Blessed,  there 
fore,  and  reverently  welcomed  by  me,  her  true-born 
son,  be  New  England's  winter,  which  makes  us,  one 
and  all,  the  nurslings  of  the  storm,  and  sings  a  famil 
iar  lullaby  even  in  the  wildest  shriek  of  the  December 
blast.  Now  look  we  forth  again,  and  see  how  much  of 
his  task  the  storm  spirit  has  done. 

Slow  and  sure  !  He  has  the  day,  perchance  the 
week,  before  him,  and  may  take  his  own  time  to  ac 
complish  Nature's  burial  in  snow.  A  smooth  mantle 
is  scarcely  yet  thrown  over  the  withered  grass-plat, 
and  the  dry  stocks  of  annuals  still  thrust  themselves 
through  the  white  surface  in  all  parts  of  the  garden. 
The  leafless  rose-bushes  stand  shivering  in  a  shallow 
snow-drift,  looking,  poor  things  !  as  disconsolate  as  if 
they  possessed  a  human  consciousness  of  the  dreaiy 
scene.  This  is  a  sad  time  for  the  shrubs  that  do  not 
perish  with  the  summer ;  they  neither  live  nor  die  ; 
what  they  retain  of  life  seems  but  the  chilling  sense  of 
death.  Very  sad  are  the  flower  shrubs  in  midwinter ! 
The  roofs  of  the  houses  are  now  all  white,  save  where 
the  eddying  wind  has  kept  them  bare  at  the  bleak  cor 
ners.  To  discern  the  real  intensity  of  the  storm,  we 
must  fix  upon  some  distant  object,  —  as  yonder  spire, 
—  and  observe  how  the  riotous  gust  fights  with  the 
descending  snow  throughout  the  intervening  space. 
Sometimes  the  entire  prospect  is  obscured :  then- 
again,  we  have  a  distinct,  but  transient,  glimpse  or 
the  tall  steeple,  like  a  giant's  ghost ;  and  now  th& 
dense  wreaths  sweep  between,  as  if  demons  were  fling 
ing  snow-drifts  at  each  other  in  mid-air.  Look  next 
into  the  street,  where  we  have  an  amusing  parallel  to 
the  combat  of  those  fancied  demons  in  the  upper  re 
gions.  It  is  a  snow  battle  of  school-boys.  What  a 


388  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pretty  satire  on  war  and  military  glory  might  be  writ 
ten,  in  the  form  of  a  child's  story,  by  describing  the 
snow-ball  fights  of  two  rival  schools,  the  alternate  de 
feats  and  victories  of  each,  and  the  final  triumph  of 
one  party,  or  perhaps  of  neither  !  What  pitched  bat 
tles,  worthy  to  be  chanted  in  Homeric  strains  !  What 
storming  of  fortresses,  built  all  of  massive  snow  blocks! 
What  feats  of  individual  prowess,  and  embodied  on 
sets  of  martial  enthusiasm  !  And  when  some  well-con 
tested  and  decisive  victory  had  put  a  period  to  the 
war,  both  armies  should  unite  to  build  a  lofty  monu 
ment  of  snow  upon  the  battle-field  and  crown  it  with 
the  victor's  statue,  hewn  of  the  same  frozen  marble. 
In  a  few  days  or  weeks  thereafter  the  passer-by  would 
observe  a  shapeless  mound  upon  the  level  common ; 
and,  unmindful  of  the  famous  victory,  would  ask,  — 
"How  came  it  there?  Who  reared  it?  And  what 
means  it  ?  "  The  shattered  pedestal  of  many  a  battle 
monument  has  provoked  these  questions  when  none 
could  answer. 

Turn  we  again  to  the  fireside,  and  sit  musing  there, 
lending  our  ears  to  the  wind,  till  perhaps  it  shall  seem 
like  an  articulate  voice,  and  dictate  wild  and  airy  mat 
ter  for  the  pen.  Would  it  might  inspire  me  to  sketch 
out  the  personification  of  a  New  England  winter! 
And  that  idea,  if  I  can  seize  the  snow-wreathed  fig 
ures  that  flit  before  my  fancy,  shall  be  the  theme  of 
the  next  page. 

How  does  Winter  herald  his  approach  ?  By  the 
shrieking  blast  of  latter  autumn,  which  is  Nature's  cry 
of  lamentation,  as  the  destroyer  rushes  among  the 
shivering  groves  where  she  has  lingered,  and  scatters 
the  sear  leaves  upon  the  tempest.  When  that  cry  is 
heard,  the  people  wrap  themselves  in  cloaks,  and 


• 


SNOW-FLAKES.  389 

shake  their  heads  disconsolately,  saying,  —  "  Winter  is 
at  hand !  "  Then  the  axe  of  the  woodcutter  echoes 
sharp  and  diligently  in  the  forest ;  then  the  coal 
merchants  rejoice,  because  each  shriek  of  Nature  in 
her  agony  adds  something  to  the  price  of  coal  per  ton ; 
then  the  peat  smoke  spreads  its  aromatic  fragrance 
through  the  atmosphere.  A  few  days  more  ;  and  at 
eventide  the  children  look  out  of  the  window,  and 
dimly  perceive  the  flaunting  of  a  snowy  mantle  in  the 
air.  It  is  stern  Winter's  vesture.  They  crowd  around 
the  hearth,  and  cling  to  their  mother's  gown,  or  press 
between  their  father's  knees,  affrighted  by  the  hollow 
roaring  voice  that  bellows  adown  the  wide  flue  of  the 
chimney.  It  is  the  voice  of  Winter ;  and  when  par 
ents  and  children  hear  it,  they  shudder  and  exclaim, 
—  ki  Winter  is  come !  Cold  Winter  has  begun  his 
reign  already !  "  Now,  throughout  New  England,  each 
hearth  becomes  an  altar,  sending  up  the  smoke  of  a 
Continued  sacrifice  to  the  immitigable  deity  who  tyran 
nizes  over  forest,  country  side,  and  town.  Wrapped 
in  his  white  mantle,  his  staff  a  huge  icicle,  his  beard 
and  hair  a  wind-tossed  snow-drift,  he  travels  over  the 
land,  in  the  midst  of  the  northern  blast ;  and  woe  to 
the  homeless  wanderer  whom  he  finds  upon  his  path ! 
There  he  lies  stark  and  stiff,  a  human  shape  of  ice, 
on  the  spot  where  Winter  overtook  him.  On  strides 
the  tyrant  over  the  rushing  rivers  and  broad  lakes, 
which  turn  to  rock  beneath  his  footsteps.  His  dreary 
empire  is  established  ;  all  around  stretches  the  deso 
lation  of  the  Pole.  Yet  not  ungrateful  be  his  New 
England  children  —  for  Winter  is  our  sire,  though  a 
stern  and  rough  one  —  not  ungrateful  even  for  the  se 
verities  which  have  nourished  our  unyielding  strength 
of  character.  And  let  us  thank  him,  too,  for  the 


390  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

sleigh-rides,  cheered  by  the  music  of  merry  bells  — 
for  the  crackling  and  rustling  hearth,  when  the  ruddy 
firelight  gleams  on  hardy  Manhood  and  the  blooming 
cheek  of  Woman  —  for  all  the  home  enjoyments,  and 
the  kindred  virtues,  which  flourish  in  a  frozen  soil. 
Not  that  we  grieve,  when,  after  some  seven  months  of 
storm  and  bitter  frost,  Spring,  in  the  guise  of  a  flower- 
crowned  virgin,  is  seen  driving  away  the  hoary  despot, 
pelting  him  with  violets  by  the  handful,  and  strewing 
green  grass  on  the  path  behind  him.  Often,  ere  he 
will  give  up  his  empire,  old  Winter  rushes  fiercely 
back,  and  hurls  a  snow-drift  at  the  shrinking  form  of 
Spring  ;  yet,  step  by  step,  he  is  compelled  to  retreat 
northward,  and  spends  the  summer  months  within  the 
Arctic  circle. 

Such  fantasies,  intermixed  among  graver  toils  of 
mind,  have  made  the  winter's  day  pass  pleasantly. 
Meanwhile,  the  storm  has  raged  without  abatement, 
and  now,  as  the  brief  afternoon  declines,  is  tossing 
denser  volumes  to  and  fro  about  the  atmosphere.  On 
the  window-sill  there  is  a  layer  of  snow  reaching 
half  way  up  the  lowest  pane  of  glass.  The  garden  is 
one  unbroken  bed.  Along  the  street  are  two  or  three 
spots  of  uncovered  earth,  where  the  gust  has  whirled 
away  the  snow,  heaping  it  elsewhere  to  the  fence  tops, 
or  piling  huge  banks  against  the  doors  of  houses.  A 
solitary  passenger  is  seen,  now  striding  mid-leg  deep 
across  a  drift,  now  scudding  over  the  bare  ground, 
while  his  cloak  is  swollen  with  the  wind.  And  now 
the  jingling  of  bells,  a  sluggish  sound,  responsive  to 
the  horse's  toilsome  progress  through  the  unbroken 
drifts,  announces  the  passage  of  a  sleigh,  with  a  boy 
clinging  behind,  and  ducking  his  head  to  escape  detec- 
tion  by  the  driver.  Next  comes  a  sledge,  laden  witlj 


• 


SNOW-FLAKES.  391 

ivood  for  some  unthrifty  housekeeper,  whom  winter 
has  surprised  at  a  cold  hearth.  But  what  dismal 
equipage  now  struggles  along  the  uneven  street  ?  A 
sable  hearse,  bestrewn  with  snow,  is  bearing  a  dead 
man  through  the  storm  to  his  frozen  bed.  Oh,  how 
dreary  is  a  burial  in  winter,  when  the  bosom  of  Mother 
Earth  has  no  warmth  for  her  poor  child  ! 

Evening  —  the  early  eve  of  December  —  begins  to 
spread  its  deepening  veil  over  the  comfortless  scene, 
the  firelight  gradually  brightens,  and  throws  my  flick 
ering  shadow  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  cham 
ber  ;  but  still  the  storm  rages  and  rattles  against  the 
windows.  Alas  !  I  shiver,  and  think  it  time  to  be 
disconsolate.  But,  taking  a  farewell  glance  at  dead 
nature  in  her  shroud,  I  perceive  a  flock  of  snow-birds 
skimming  lightsomely  through  the  tempest,  and  flit 
ting  from  drift  to  drift,  as  sportively  as  swallows  in 
the  delightful  prime  of  summer.  Whence  come  they? 
Where  do  they  build  their  nests  and  seek  their  food  ? 
Why,  having  airy  wings,  do  they  not  follow  summer 
around  the  earth,  instead  of  making  themselves  the 
playmates  of  the  storm,  and  fluttering  on  the  dreary 
verge  of  the  winter's  eve  ?  I  know  not  whence  they 
come,  nor  why ;  yet  my  spirit  has  been  cheered  by 
that  wandering  flock  of  snow-birds. 


THE  SEVEN  VAGABONDS. 

RAMBLING  on  foot  in  the  spring  of  my  life  and  the 
summer  of  the  year,  I  came  one  afternoon  to  a  point 
which  gave  me  the  choice  of  three  directions.  Straight 
before  me  the  main  road  extended  its  dusty  length  to 
Boston  ;  on  the  left  a  branch  went  towards  the  sea, 
and  would  have  lengthened  my  journey  a  trifle  of 
twenty  or  thirty  miles ;  while,  by  the  right-hand  path 
I  might  have  gone  over  hills  and  lakes  to  Canada, 
visiting  in  my  way  the  celebrated  town  of  Stamford. 
On  a  level  spot  of  grass,  at  the  foot  of  the  guide-post, 
appeared  an  object  which,  though  locomotive  on  a  dif 
ferent  principle,  reminded  me  of  Gulliver's  portable 
mansion  among  the  Brobdignags.  It  was  a  huge  cov 
ered  wagon,  or,  more  properly,  a  small  house  on 
wheels,  with  a  door  on  one  side  and  a  window  shaded 
by  green  blinds  on  the  other.  Two  horses,  munching 
provender  out  of  the  baskets  which  muzzled  them, 
were  fastened  near  the  vehicle  :  a  delectable  sound  of 
music  proceeded  from  the  interior ;  and  I  immediately 
conjectured  that  this  was  some  itinerant  show  halting 
at  the  confluence  of  the  roads  to  intercept  such  idle 
travellers  as  myself.  A  shower  had  long  been  climb 
ing  up  the  western  sky,  and  now  hung  so  blackly  over 
my  onward  path  that  it  was  a  point  of  wisdom  to  seek 
shelter  here. 

"  Halloo  !  Who  stands  guard  here  ?  Is  the  door 
keeper  asleep  ?  "  cried  I,  approaching  a  ladder  of  two 
or  three  steps  which  was  let  down  from  the  wagon. 


• 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  393 

The  music  ceased  at  my  summons,  and  there  ap 
peared  at  the  door,  not  the  sort  of  figure  that  I  had 
mentally  assigned  to  the  wandering  showman,  but  a 
most  respectable  old  personage,  whom  I  was  sorry  to 
have  addressed  in  so  free  a  style.  He  wore  a  snuff- 
colored  coat  and  smallclothes,  with  white  top-boots, 
and  exhibited  the  mild  dignity  of  aspect  and  mannei 
which  may  often  be  noticed  in  aged  schoolmasters, 
and  sometimes  in  deacons,  selectmen,  or  other  poten 
tates  of  that  kind.  A  small  piece  of  silver  was  my 
passport  within  his  premises,  where  I  found  only  one 
other  person,  hereafter  to  be  described. 

"  This  is  a  didl  day  for  business,"  said  the  old  gen 
tleman,  as  he  ushered  me  in  ,  "  but  I  merely  tarry 
here  to  refresh  the  cattle,  being  bound  for  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford." 

Perhaps  the  movable  scene  of  this  narrative  is  still 
peregrinating  New  England,  and  may  enable  the 
reader  to  test  the  accuracy  of  my  description.  The 
spectacle  —  for  I  will  not  use  the  unworthy  term  of 
puppet  show  —  consisted  of  a  multitude  of  little  peo 
ple  assembled  on  a  miniature  stage.  Among  them 
were  artisans  of  every  kind,  in  the  attitudes  of  their 
toil,  and  a  group  of  fair  ladies  and  gay  gentlemen 
standing  ready  for  the  dance  ;  a  company  of  foot-sol 
diers  formed  a  line  across  the  stage,  looking  stern, 
grim,  and  terrible  enough,  to  make  it  a  pleasant  con 
sideration  that  they  were  but  three  inches  high  ;  and 
conspicuous  above  the  whole  was  seen  a  Merry  An 
drew,  in  the  pointed  cap  and  motley  coat  of  his  pro 
fession.  All  the  inhabitants  of  this  mimic  world  were 
motionless,  like  the  figures  in  a  picture,  or  like  that 
people  who  one  moment  were  alive  in  the  midst  of 
their  business  and  delights,  and  the  next  were  trans- 


394  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

formed  to  statues,  preserving  an  eternal  semblance  of 
labor  that  was  ended,  and  pleasure  that  could  be  felt 
no  more.  Anon,  however,  the  old  gentleman  turned 
the  handle  of  a  barrel  organ,  the  first  note  of  which 
produced  a  most  enlivening  effect  upon  the  figures, 
and  awoke  them  all  to  their  proper  occupations  and 
amusements.  By  the  self-same  impulse  the  tailor 
plied  his  needle,  the  blacksmith's  hammer  descended 
upon  the  anvil,  and  the  dancers  whirled  away  on 
feathery  tiptoes  ;  the  company  of  soldiers  broke  into 
platoons,  retreated  from  the  stage,  and  were  succeeded 
by  a  troop  of  horse,  who  came  prancing  onward  with 
such  a  sound  of  trumpets  and  trampling  of  hoofs  as 
might  have  startled  Don  Quixote  himself ;  while  an  old 
toper,  of  inveterate  ill  habits,  uplifted  his  black  bottle 
and  took  off  a  hearty  swig.  Meantime  the  Merry  An 
drew  began  to  caper  and  turn  somersets,  shaking  his 
sides,  nodding  his  head,  and  winking  his  eyes  in  as 
life-like  a  manner  as  if  he  were  ridiculing  the  non 
sense  of  all  human  affairs,  and  making  fun  of  the 
whole  multitude  beneath  him.  At  length  the  old 
magician  (for  I  compared  the  showman  to  Prospero 
entertaining  his  guests  with  a  mask  of  shadows) 
paused  that  I  might  give  utterance  to  my  wonder. 

"  What  an  admirable  piece  of  work  is  this !  "  ex 
claimed  I,  lifting  up  my  hands  in  astonishment. 

Indeed  I  liked  the  spectacle,  and  was  tickled  with 
the  old  man's  gravity  as  he  presided  at  it,  for  I  had 
none  of  that  foolish  wisdom  which  reproves  every 
occupation  that  is  not  useful  in  this  world  of  vanities. 
If  there  be  a  faculty  which  I  possess  more  perfectly 
than  most  men,  it  is  that  of  throwing  myself  mentally 
into  situations  foreign  to  my  own,  and  detecting,  with 
a  cheerful  eye,  the  desirable  circumstances  of  each, 


• 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  395 

I  could  have  envied  the  life  of  this  gray-headed  show 
man,  spent  as  it  had  been  in  a  course  of  safe  and 
pleasurable  adventure,  in  driving  his  huge  vehicle 
sometimes  through  the  sands  of  Cape  Cod,  and  some 
times  over  the  rough  forest  roads  of  the  north  and 

C 

east,  and  halting  now  on  the  green  before  a  village 
meeting-house,  and  now  in  a  paved  square  of  the  me 
tropolis.  How  often  must  his  heart  have  been  glad 
dened  by  the  delight  of  children  as  they  viewed  these 
animated  figures !  or  his  pride  indulged  by  harangu 
ing  learnedly  to  grown  men  on  the  mechanical  powers 
which  produced  such  wonderful  effects,  or  his  gal 
lantry  brought  into  play  (for  this  is  an  attribute 
which  such  grave  men  do  not  lack)  by  the  visits  of 
pretty  maidens !  And  then  with  how  fresh  a  feeling 
must  he  return,  at  intervals,  to  his  own  peculiar  home ! 

"  I  would  I  were  assured  of  as  happy  a  life  as  his," 
thought  I. 

Though  the  showman's  wagon  might  have  accom 
modated  fifteen  or  twenty  spectators,  it  now  contained 
only  himself  and  me,  and  a  third  person  at  whom  I 
threw  a  glance  on  entering.  He  was  a  neat  and  thin 
voung  man  of  two  or  three  and  twenty  ;  his  drab  hat, 
and  green  frock  coat  with  velvet  collar,  wTere  smart, 
though  no  longer  new ;  while  a  pair  of  green  specta 
cles  that  seemed  needless  to  his  brisk  little  eyes  gave 
him  something  of  a  scholar-like  and  literary  air. 
After  allowing  me  a  sufficient  time  to  inspect  the 
puppets,  he  advanced  with  a  bow,  and  drew  my  atten 
tion  to  some  books  in  a  corner  of  the  wagon.  These 
he  forthwith  began  to  extol  with  an  amazing  volubil 
ity  of  well-sounding  words,  and  ail  ingenuity  of  praise 
that  won  him  my  heart,  as  being  myself  one  of  the 
most  merciful  of  critics.  Indeed  his  stock  required 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

some  considerable  powers  of  commendation  in  the 
salesman  ;  there  were  several  ancient  friends  of  mine, 
the  novels  of  those  happy  days  when  my  affections 
wavered  between  the  Scottish  Chiefs  and  Thomas 
Thumb ;  besides  a  few  of  later  date,  whose  merits  had 
not  been  acknowledged  by  the  public.  I  was  glad  to 
find  that  dear  little  venerable  volume,  the  New  Eng 
land  Primer,  looking  as  antique  as  ever,  though  in  its 
thousandth  new  edition ;  a  bundle  of  superannuated 
gilt  picture-books  made  such  a  child  of  me,  that  partly 
for  the  glittering  covers,  and  partly  for  the  fairy 
tales  within,  I  bought  the  whole  ;  and  an  assortment 
of  ballads  and  popular  theatrical  songs  drew  largely 
on  my  purse.  To  balance  these  expenditures,  I  med 
dled  neither  with  sermons,  nor  science,  nor  morality, 
though  volumes  of  each  were  there ;  nor  with  a  Life 
of  Franklin  in  the  coarsest  of  paper,  but  so  showily 
bound  that  it  was  emblematical  of  the  Doctor  himself, 
in  the  court-dress  which  he  refused  to  wear  at  Paris  ; 
nor  with  Webster's  Spelling-Book,  nor  some  of  By 
ron's  minor  poems,  nor  half  a  dozen  little  Testaments 
at  twenty-five  cents  each. 

Thus  far  the  collection  might  have  been  swept  from 
some  great  bookstore,  or  picked  up  at  an  evening  auc 
tion  room  ;  but  there  was  one  small  blue-covered  pam 
phlet,  which  the  pedlar  handed  me  with  so  peculiar  an 
air,  that  I  purchased  it  immediately  at  his  own  price ; 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  thought  struck  me, 
that  I  had  spoken  face  to  face  with  the  veritable  au 
thor  of  a  printed  book.  The  literary  man  now  evinced 
a  great  kindness  for  me,  and  I  ventured  to  inquire 
which  way  he  was  travelling. 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "I  keep  company  with  this  old 
gentleman  here,  and  we  are  moving  now  towards  the 
camp-meeting  at  Stamford." 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  397 

He  then  explained  to  me  that  for  the  present  season 
he  had  rented  a  corner  of  the  wagon  as  a  bookstore, 
which,  as  he  wittily  observed,  was  a  true  Circulating' 
Library,  since  there  were  few  parts  of  the  country 
where  it  had  not  gone  its  rounds.  I  approved  of  the 
plan  exceedingly,  and  began  to  sum  up  within  my 
mind  the  many  uncommon  felicities  in  the  life  of  a 
book  pedlar,  especially  when  his  character  resembled 
that  of  the  individual  before  me.  At  a  high  rate  was 
to  be  reckoned  the  daily  and  hourly  enjoyment  of  such 
interviews  as  the  present,  in  wrhich  he  seized  upon 
the  admiration  of  a  passing  stranger,  and  made  him 
aware  that  a  man  of  literary  taste,  and  even  of  literary 
achievement,  was  travelling  the  country  in  a  show 
man's  wagon.  A  more  valuable,  yet  not  infrequent, 
triumph,  might  be  won  in  his  conversations  with  some 
elderly  clergyman,  long  vegetating  in  a  rocky,  woody, 
watery  back  settlement  of  New  England,  who,  as  he 
recruited  his  library  from  the  pedlar's  stock  of  ser 
mons,  would  exhort  him  to  seek  a  college  education 
and  become  the  first  scholar  in  his  class.  Sweeter  and 
prouder  yet  would  be  his  sensations  when,  talking  po 
etry  while  he  sold  spelling-books,  he  should  charm  the 
mind,  and  haply  touch  the  heart,  of  a  fair  country 
schoolmistress,  herself  an  unhonored  poetess,  a  wearer 
of  blue  stockings  which  none  but  himself  took  pains 
to  look  at.  But  the  scene  of  his  completest  glory 
would  be  when  the  wagon  had  halted  for  the  night,  and 
his  stock  of  books  was  transferred  to  some  crowded 
bar-room.  Then  would  he  recommend  to  the  multi 
farious  company,  whether  traveller  from  the  city,  or 
teamster  from  the  hills,  or  neighboring  squire,  or  the 
landlord  himself,  or  his  loutish  hostler,  works  suited 
to  each  particular  taste  and  capacity ;  proving,  all  the 


398  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

while,  by  acute  criticism  and  profound  remark,  that 
the  lore  in  his  books  was  even  exceeded  by  that  in  his 
brain. 

Thus  happily  would  he  traverse  the  land ;  some 
times  a  herald  before  the  march  of  Mind ;  sometimes 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  awful  Literature ;  and  reap 
ing  everywhere  a  harvest  of  real  and  sensible  popular 
ity,  which  the  secluded  bookworms,  by  whose  toil  he 
lived,  could  never  hope  for. 

"  If  ever  I  meddle  with  literature,"  thought  I,  fix 
ing  myself  in  adamantine  resolution,  "it  shall  be  as  a 
travelling  bookseller." 

Though  it  was  still  mid  afternoon,  the  air  had  now 
grown  dark  about  us,  and  a  few  drops  of  rain  came 
down  upon  the  roof  of  our  vehicle,  pattering  like  the 
feet  of  birds  that  had  flown  thither  to  rest.  A  sound 
of  pleasant  voices  made  us  listen,  and  there  soon  ap 
peared  half-way  up  the  ladder  the  pretty  person  of  a 
young  damsel,  whose  rosy  face  was  so  cheerful  that 
even  amid  the  gloomy  light  it  seemed  as  if  the  sun 
beams  were  peeping  under  her  bonnet.  We  next  saw 
the  dark  and  handsome  features  of  a  young  man,  who, 
with  easier  gallantry  than  might  have  been  expected 
in  the  heart  of  Yankee  land,  was  assisting  her  into 
the  wagon.  It  became  immediately  evident  to  us, 
when  the  two  strangers  stood  within  the  door,  that 
they  were  of  a  profession  kindred  to  those  of  my  com 
panions  ;  and  I  was  delighted  with  the  more  than  hos 
pitable,  the  even  paternal,  kindness  of  the  old  show 
man's  manner,  as  he  welcomed  them  ;  while  the  man 
of  literature  hastened  to  lead  the  merry-eyed  girl  to  a 
seat  on  the  long  bench. 

"  You  are  housed  but  just  in  time,  my  young 
friends,"  said  the  master  of  the  wagon.  u  The  sky 
would  have  been  down  upon  you  within  five  minutes.'' 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  399 

The  young  man's  reply  marked  him  as  a  foreigner, 
not  by  any  variation  from  the  idiom  and  accent  of 
good  English,  but  because  he  spoke  with  more  caution 
and  accuracy  than  if  perfectly  familiar  with  the  lan 
guage. 

"  We  knew  that  a  shower  was  hanging  over  us,' 
said  he,  "  and  consulted  whether  it  were  best  to  entei 
the  house  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill,  but  seeing  youi 
wagon  in  the  road  "  — 

44  We  agreed  to  come  hither,"'  interrupted  the  girl, 
with  a  smile,  "  because  we  should  be  more  at  home  in 
a  wandering  house  like  this." 

I  meanwhile,  with  many  a  wild  and  undetermined 
fantasy,  was  narrowly  inspecting  these  two  doves  that 
had  flown  into  our  ark.  The  young  man,  tall,  agile, 
and  athletic,  wore  a  mass  of  black  shining  curls  clus 
tering  round  a  dark  and  vivacious  countenance,  which, 
if  it  had  not  greater  expression,  was  at  least  more  act 
ive,  and  attracted  readier  notice,  than  the  quiet  faces 
of  our  countrymen.  At  his  first  appearance  he  had 
been  laden  with  a  neat  mahogany  box,  of  about  two 

O          ». 

feet  square,  but  very  light  in  proportion  to  its  size, 
which  he  had  immediately  unstrapped  from  his  shoul 
ders  and  deposited  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon. 

The  girl  had  nearly  as  fair  a  complexion  as  our 
own  beauties,  and  a  brighter  one  than  most  of  them  ; 
the  lightness  of  her  figure,  which  seemed  calculated 
to  traverse  the  whole  world  without  weariness,  suited 
well  with  the  glowing  cheerfulness  of  her  face  ;  and 
her  o:av  attire,  combining  the  rainbow  hues  of  crim- 

O     «,  C? 

son,  green,  and  a  deep  orange,  was  as  proper  to  her 
lightsome  aspect  as  if  she  had  been  bom  in  it.  This 
gay  stranger  was  appropriately  burdened  with  that 
mirth-inspiring  instrument,  the  fiddle,  which  her  com- 


400  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

panion  took  from  her  hands,  and  shortly  began  the 
process  of  tuning.  Neither  of  us —  the  previous  com 
pany  of  the  wagon — needed  to  inquire  their  tiade  ; 
for  this  could  be  no  mystery  to  frequenters  of  brigade 
musters,  ordinations,  cattle-shows,  commencements,  and 
other  festal  meetings  in  our  sober  land;  and  there 
is  a  dear  friend  of  mine  who  will  smile  when  this 
page  recalls  to  his  memory  a  chivalrous  deed  per 
formed  by  us,  in  rescuing  the  showbox  of  such  a 
couple  from  a  mob  of  great  double-fisted  countrymen. 

"  Come,"  said  I  to  the  damsel  of  gay  attire,  "shall 
we  visit  all  the  wonders  of  the  world  together  ?  " 

She  understood  the  metaphor  at  once ;  though  in 
deed  it  would  not  much  have  troubled  me  if  she  had 
assented  to  the  literal  meaning  of  my  words.  The 
mahogany  box  was  placed  in  a  proper  position,  and  I 
peeped  in  through  its  small  round  magnifying  win 
dow,  while  the  girl  sat  by  my  side,  and  gave  short 
descriptive  sketches,  as  one  after  another  the  pictures 
were  unfolded  to  my  view.  We  visited  together,  at 
least  our  imaginations  did,  full  many  a  famous  city, 
in  the  streets  of  which  I  had  long  yearned  to  tread ; 
once,  I  remember,  we  were  in  the  harbor  of  Barce 
lona,  gazing  townwards  ;  next,  she  bore  me  through 
the  air  to  Sicily,  and  bade  me  look  up  at  blazing 
2Etna;  then  we  took  wing  to  Venice,  and  sat  in  a 
gondola  beneath  the  arch  of  the  Rialto ;  and  anon  she 
sat  me  down  among  the  thronged  spectators  at  the 
coronation  of  Napoleon.  But  there  was  one  scene,  its 
locality  she  could  not  tell,  which  charmed  my  attention 
longer  than  all  those  gorgeous  palaces  and  churches, 
because  the  fancy  haunted  me  that  I  myself,  the  pre 
ceding  summer,  had  beheld  just  such  a  humble  meet 
ing-house,  in  just  such  a  pine-surrounded  nook,  among 


• 


THE  SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  401 

our  own  green  mountains.  All  these  pictures  were 
tolerably  executed,  though  far  inferior  to  the  girl's 
touches  of  description  ;  nor  was  it  easy  to  compre 
hend  how,  in  so  few  sentences,  and  these,  as  I  sup 
posed,  in  a  language  foreign  to  her,  she  contrived  to 
present  an  airy  copy  of  each  varied  scene.  AY  hen  we 
had  travelled  through  the  vast  extent  of  the  mahogany 
box  I  looked  into  my  guide's  face. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ? "  in 
quired  I,  in  the  words  of  an  old  song. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  gay  damsel,  "  you  might  as  well 
ask  where  the  summer  wind  is  going.  We  are  wan 
derers  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere.  Wherever 
there  is  mirth,  our  merry  hearts  are  drawn  to  it.  To 
day,  indeed,  the  people  have  told  us  of  a  great  frolic 
and  festival  in  these  parts ;  so  perhaps  we  may  be 
needed  at  what  you  call  the  camp-meeting  at  Stam 
ford/' 

Then  in  my  happy  youth,  and  while  her  pleasant 
voice  yet  sounded  in  my  ears,  I  sighed  ;  for  none  but 
myself,  I  thought,  shoidd  have  been  her  companion  in 
a  life  which  seemed  to  realize  my  own  wild  fancies, 
cherished  all  through  visionary  boyhood  to  that  hour. 
To  these  two  strangers  the  world  was  in  its  golden 
age,  not  that  indeed  it  was  less  dark  and  sad  than 
ever,  but  because  its  weariness  and  sorrow  had  no 
community  with  their  ethereal  nature.  Wherever  they 
might  appear  in  their  pilgrimage  of  bliss,  Youth  would 
echo  back  their  gladness,  care-stricken  Maturity  would 
rest  a  moment  from  its  toil,  and  Age,  tottering  among 
the  graves,  would  smile  in  withered  joy  for  their  sakes. 
The  lonely  cot,  the  narrow  and  gloomy  street,  the 
sombre  shade,  would  catch  a  passing  gleam  like  that 
now  shining  on  ourselves,  as  these  bright  spirits  wan- 

VOL.  i.  26 


402  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dered  by.  Blessed  pair,  whose  happy  home  was 
throughout  all  the  earth  !  I  looked  at  my  shoulders, 
and  thought  them  broad  enough  to  sustain  those  pict 
ured  towns  and  mountains ;  mine,  too,  was  an  elastic 
foot,  as  tireless  as  the  wing  of  the  bird  of  paradise  ; 
mine  was  then  an  untroubled  heart,  that  would  have 
gone  singing  on  its  delightful  way. 

"  O  maiden !  "  said  I  aloud,  "  why  did  you  not  come 
hither  alone  ?  " 

While  the  merry  girl  and  myself  were  busy  with 
the  showbox,  the  unceasing  rain  had  driven  another 
wayfarer  into  the  wagon.  He  seemed  pretty  nearly 
of  the  old  showman's  age,  but  much  smaller,  leaner, 
and  more  withered  than  he,  and  less  respectably  clad 
in  a  patched  suit  of  gray;  withal,  he  had  a  thin, 
shrewd  countenance,  and  a  pair  of  diminutive  gray 
eyes,  which  peeped  rather  too  keenly  out  of  their 
puckered  sockets.  This  old  fellow  had  been  joking 
with  the  showman,  in  a  manner  which  intimated  pre 
vious  acquaintance ;  but  perceiving  that  the  damsel 
and  I  had  terminated  our  affairs,  he  drew  forth  a 
folded  document,  and  presented  it  to  me.  As  I  had 
anticipated,  it  proved  to  be  a  circular,  written  in  a 
very  fair  and  legible  hand,  and  signed  by  several  dis 
tinguished  gentlemen  whom  I  had  never  heard  of,  stat 
ing  that  the  bearer  had  encountered  every  variety  of 
misfortune,  and  recommending  him  to  the  notice  of 
all  charitable  people.  Previous  disbursements  had 
left  me  no  more  than  a  five-dollar  bill,  out  of  which, 
however,  I  offered  to  make  the  beggar  a  donation, 
provided  he  would  give  me  change  for  it.  The  object 
of  my  beneficence  looked  keenly  in  my  face,  and  dis 
cerned  that  I  had  none  of  that  abominable  spirit,  char 
acteristic  though  it  be,  of  a  full-blooded  Yankee, 


• 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  403 

which  takes  pleasure  in  detecting  every  little  harmless 
piece  of  knavery. 

"  Why,  perhaps,"  said  the  ragged  old  mendicant, 
"  if  the  bank  is  in  good  standing,  I  can't  say  but  I 
may  have  enough  about  me  to  change  your  bill." 

"  It  is  a  bill  of  the  Suffolk  Bank/'  said  1,  "  and 
better  than  the  specie." 

As  the  beggar  had  nothing  to  object,  he  now  pro 
duced  a  small  buff-leather  bag,  tied  up  carefully  with 
a  shoestring.  When  this  was  opened,  there  appeared 
a  very  comfortable  treasure  of  silver  coins,  of  all  sorts 
and  sizes  ;  and  I  even  fancied  that  I  saw,  gleaming 
among  them,  the  golden  plumage  of  that  rare  bird  in 
our  currency,  the  American  Eagle.  In  this  precious 
heap  was  my  bank-note  deposited,  the  rate  of  exchange 
being  considerably  against  me.  His  wants  being  thus 
relieved,  the  destitute  man  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  an 
old  pack  of  greasy  cards,  which  had  probably  contrib 
uted  to  fill  the  buff-leather  bag  in  more  ways  than 
one. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  I  spy  a  rare  fortune  in  your 
face,  and  for  twenty-five  cents  more,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
it  is." 

I  never  refuse  to  take  a  glimpse  into  futurity ;  so, 
after  shuffling  the  cards,  and  when  the  fair  damsel 
had  cut  them,  I  dealt  a  portion  to  the  prophetic  beg 
gar.  Like  others  of  his  profession,  before  predicting 
the  shadowy  events  that  were  moving  on  to  meet  me, 
he  gave  proof  of  his  preternatural  science  by  describ 
ing  scenes  through  which  I  had  already  passed.  Here 
let  me  have  credit  for  a  sober  fact.  When  the  old 
man  had  read  a  page  in  his  book  of  fate,  he  bent  his 
keen  gray  eyes  on  mine,  and  proceeded  to  relate,  in 
all  its  minute  particulars,  what  was  then  the  most 


404  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

singular  event  of  my  life.  It  was  one  which  I  had 
no  purpose  to  disclose  till  the  general  unfolding  of  all 
secrets  ;  nor  would  it  be  a  much  stranger  instance  of 
inscrutable  knowledge,  or  fortune  conjecture,  if  the 
beggar  were  to  meet  me  in  the  street  to-day,  and  re 
peat,  word  for  word,  the  page  which  I  have  here  writ 
ten.  The  fortune-teller,  after  predicting  a  destiny 
which  Time  seems  loath  to  make  good,  put  up  his 
cards,  secreted  his  treasure  bag,  and  began  to  con 
verse  with  the  other  occupants  of  the  wagon. 

"  Well,  old  friend,"  said  the  showman,  "  you  have 
not  yet  told  us  which  way  your  face  is  turned  this 
afternoon." 

"I  am  taking  a  trip  northward,  this  warm  weather,'' 
replied  the  conjurer,  "  across  the  Connecticut  first, 
and  then  up  through  Vermont,  and  may  be  into  Can 
ada  before  the  fall.  But  I  must  stop  and  see  the 
breaking  up  of  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford." 

I  began  to  think  that  all  the  vagrants  in  New  Eng 
land  were  converging  to  the  camp-meeting,  and  had 
made  this  wagon  their  rendezvous  by  the  way.  The 
showman  now  proposed  that,  when  the  shower  was 
over,  they  should  pursue  the  road  to  Stamford  to 
gether,  it  being  sometimes  the  policy  of  these  people 
to  form  a  sort  of  league  and  confederacy. 

"And  the  young  lady  too,"  observed  the  gallant 
bibliopolist,  bowing  to  her  profoundly,  "  and  this  for 
eign  gentleman,  as  I  understand,  are  on  a  jaunt  of 
pleasure  to  the  same  spot.  It  would  add  incalculably 
to  my  own  enjoyment,  and  I  presume  to  that  of  my 
colleague  and  his  friend,  if  they  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  join  our  party." 

This  arrangement  met  with  approbation  on  all 
hands,  nor  were  any  of  those  concerned  more  sensi- 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  405 

ble  of  its  advantages  than  myself,  who  had  no  title 
to  be  included  in  it.  Having  already  satisfied  myself 
as  to  the  several  modes  in  which  the  four  others  at 
tained  felicity,  I  next  set  my  mind  at  work  to  discover 
what  enjoyments  were  peculiar  to  the  old  u  Straggler," 
as  the  people  of  the  country  would  have  termed  the 
wandering  mendicant  and  prophet.  As  he  pretended 
to  familiarity  with  the  Devil,  so  I  fancied  that  he  was 
fitted  to  pursue  and  take  delight  in  his  way  of  life,  by 
possessing  some  of  the  mental  and  moral  character 
istics,  the  lighter  and  more  comic  ones,  of  the  Devil  in 
popular  stories.  Among  them  might  be  reckoned  a 
love  of  deception  for  its  own  sake,  a  shrewd  eye  and 
keen  relish  for  human  weakness  and  ridiculous  infirm 
ity,  and  the  talent  of  petty  fraud.  Thus  to  this  old 
man  there  would  be  pleasure  even  in  the  conscious 
ness  so  insupportable  to  some  minds,  that  his  whole 
life  was  a  cheat  upon  the  world,  and  that,  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned  with  the  public,  his  little  cunning  had 
the  upper  hand  of  its  united  wisdom.  Every  day 
would  furnish  him  with  a  succession  of  minute  and 
pungent  triumphs :  as  when,  for  instance,  his  impor 
tunity  wrung  a  pittance  out  of  the  heart  of  a  miser ;  or 
when  my  silly  good  nature  transferred  a  part  of  my 
slender  purse  to  his  plump  leather  bag ;  or  when  some 
ostentatious  gentleman  should  throw  a  coin  to  the 
ragged  beggar  who  was  richer  than  himself ;  or  when, 
though  he  would  not  always  be  so  decidedly  diabolical, 
his  pretended  wants  should  make  him  a  sharer  in  the 
scanty  living  of  real  indigence.  And  then  what  an 
inexhaustible  field  of  enjoyment,  both  as  enabling  him 
to  discern  so  much  folly  and  achieve  such  quantities 
of  minor  mischief,  was  opened  to  his  sneering  spirit  by 
his  pretensions  to  prophetic  knowledge. 


406  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

All  this  was  a  sort  of  happiness  which  I  could  con 
ceive  of,  though  I  had  little  sympathy  with  it.  Per 
haps,  had  I  been  then  inclined  to  admit  it,  I  might 
have  found  that  the  roving  life  was  more  proper  to 
him  than  to  either  of  his  companions ;  for  Satan,  to 
whom  I  had  compared  the  poor  man,  has  delighted., 
ever  since  the  time  of  Job,  in  "wandering  up  and 
down  upon  the  earth  ; "  and  indeed  a  crafty  disposi 
tion  which  operates  not  in  deep-laid  plans,  but  in  dis 
connected  tricks,  could  not  have  an  adequate  scope, 
unless  naturally  impelled  to  a  continual  change  of 
scene  and  society.  My  reflections  were  here  inter 
rupted. 

"  Another  visitor !  "  exclaimed  the  old  showman. 

The  door  of  the  wagon  had  been  closed  against  the 
tempest,  which  was  roaring  and  blustering  with  pro 
digious  fury  and  commotion,  and  beating  violently 
against  our  shelter,  as  if  it  claimed  all  those  homeless 
people  for  its  lawful  prey,  while  we,  caring  little  for 
the  displeasure  of  the  elements,  sat  comfortably  talk 
ing.  There  was  now  an  attempt  to  open  the  door, 
succeeded  by  a  voice  uttering  some  strange,  unintel 
ligible  gibberish,  which  my  companions  mistook  for 
Greek,  and  I  suspected  to  be  thieves'  Latin.  How 
ever,  the  showman  stepped  forward,  and  gave  admit 
tance  to  a  figure  which  made  me  imagine,  either  that 
our  wagon  had  rolled  back  two  hundred  years  into 
past  ages,  or  that  the  forest  and  its  old  inhabitants 
had  sprung  up  around  us  by  enchantment. 

It  was  a  red  Indian,  armed  with  his  bow  and  arrow. 
His  dress  was  a  sort  of  cap,  adorned  with  a  single 
feather  of  some  wild  bird,  and  a  frock  of  blue  cotton 
girded  tight  about  him  ;  on  his  breast,  like  orders  of 
knighthood,  hung  a  crescent  and  a  circle,  and  other 


• 


THE   SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  407 

ornaments  of  silver ;  while  a  small  crucifix  betokened 
that  our  Father  the  Pope  had  interposed  between  the 
Indian  and  the  Great  Spirit,  whom  he  had  worshipped 
in  his  simplicity.  This  son  of  the  wilderness  and 
pilgrim  of  the  storm  took  his  place,  silently  in  the 
midst  of  us.  When  the  first  surprise  was  over,  I 
rightly  conjectured  him  to  be  one  of  the  Penobscot 
tribe,  parties  of  which  I  had  often  seen,  in  their 
summer  excursions  down  our  Eastern  rivers.  There 
they  paddle  their  birch  canoes  among  the  coasting 
schooners,  and  build  their  wigwam  beside  some  roar 
ing  mill-dam,  and  drive  a  little  trade  in  basket  work 
where  their  fathers  hunted  deer.  Our  new  visitor  was 
probably  wandering  through  the  country  towards  Bos 
ton,  subsisting  on  the  careless  charity  of  the  people, 
while  he  turned  his  archery  to  profitable  account  by 
shooting  at  cents,  which  were  to  be  the  prize  of  his 
successful  aim. 

The  Indian  had  not  long  been  seated  ere  our  merry 
damsel  sought  to  draw  him  into  conversation.  She, 
indeed,  seemed  all  made  up  of  sunshine  in  the  month 
of  May;  for  there  was  nothing  so  dark  and  dismal 
that  her  pleasant  mind  coidd  not  cast  a  glow  over  it; 
and  the  wild  man,  like  a  fir-tree  in  his  native  forest, 
soon  began  to  brighten  into  a  sort  of  sombre  cheerful 
ness.  At  length,  she  inquired  whether  his  journey 
had  any  particular  end  or  purpose. 

"  I  go  shoot  at  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford,"  re 
plied  the  Indian. 

44  And  here  are  five  more,"  said  the  girl,  "  all  aim 
ing  at  the  camp-meeting  too.  You  shall  be  one  of  us, 
for  we  travel  with  light  hearts  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  sing 
merry  songs,  and  tell  merry  tales,  and  am  full  of 
merry  thoughts,  and  I  dance  merrily  along  the  road, 


408  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

so  that  there  is  never  any  sadness  among  them  that 
keep  me  company.  But,  oh,  you  would  find  it  very 
dull  indeed  to  go  all  the  way  to  Stamford  alone !  " 

My  ideas  of  the  aboriginal  character  led  me  to  fear 
that  the  Indian  would  prefer  his  own  solitary  musings 
to  the  gay  society  thus  offered  him ;  011  the  contrary, 
the  girl's  proposal  met  with  immediate  acceptance,  and 
seemed  to  animate  him  with  a  misty  expectation  of  en 
joyment.  I  now  gave  myself  up  to  a  course  of  thought 
which,  whether  it  flowed  naturally  from  this  combina 
tion  of  events,  or  was  drawn  forth  by  a  wayward 
fancy,  caused  my  mind  to  thrill  as  if  I  were  listening 
to  deep  music.  I  saw  mankind,  in  this  weary  old  age 
of  the  world,  either  enduring  a  sluggish  existence  amid 
the  smoke  and  dust  of  cities,  or,  if  they  breathed  a 
purer  air,  still  lying  down  at  night  with  no  hope  but 
to  wear  out  to-morrow,  and  all  the  to-morrows  which 
make  up  life,  among  the  same  dull  scenes  and  in  the 
same  wretched  toil  that  had  darkened  the  sunshine  of 
to-day.  But  there  were  some,  full  of  the  primeval  in 
stinct,  who  preserved  the  freshness  of  youth  to  their 
latest  years  by  the  continual  excitement  of  new  ob 
jects,  new  pursuits,  and  new  associates ;  and  cared 
little,  though  their  birthplace  might  have  been  here 
in  New  England,  if  the  grave  should  close  over  them 
in  Central  Asia.  Fate  was  summoning  a  parliament 
of  these  free  spirits  ;  unconscious  of  the  impulse  which 
directed  them  to  a  common  centre,  they  had  come 
hither  from  far  and  near,  and  last  of  all  appeared 
the  representative  of  those  mighty  vagrants  who  had 
chased  the  deer  during  thousands  of  years,  and  were 
chasing  it  now  in  the  Spirit  Land.  Wandering  down 
through  the  waste  of  ages,  the  woods  had  vanished 
around  his  path;  his  ami  had  lost  somewhat  of  its 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  409 

strength,  his  foot  of  its  fleetness,  his  mien  of  its  wild 
regality,  his  heart  and  mind  of  their  savage  virtue  and 
uncultured  force ;  but  here,  untamable  to  the  routine 
of  artificial  life,  roving  now  along  the  dusty  road  as 
of  old  over  the  forest  leaves,  here  was  the  Indian  still. 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  showman,  in  the  midst  of  my 
meditations,  "here  is  an  honest  company  of  us — one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six  —  all  going  to  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford.  Now,  hoping  no  offence,  I 
should  like  to  know  where  this  young  gentleman  may 
be  going?" 

I  started.  How  came  I  among  these  wanderers? 
The  free  mind,  that  preferred  its  own  folly  to  an 
other's  wisdom;  the  open  spirit,  that  found  compan 
ions  everywhere;  above  all,  the  restless  impulse,  that 
had  so  often  made  me  wretched  in  the  midst  of  enjoy 
ments  ;  these  were  my  claims  to  be  of  their  society. 

"  My  friends  !  "  cried  I,  stepping  into  the  centre  of 
the  wagon,  "  I  am  going  with  you  to  the  camp-meet 
ing  at  Stamford." 

"But  in  what  capacity?"  asked  the  old  showman, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  All  of  us  here  can  get  our 
bread  in  some  creditable  way.  Every  honest  man 
should  have  his  livelihood.  You,  sir,  as  I  take  it,  are 
a  mere  strolling  gentleman." 

I  proceeded  to  inform  the  company  that,  when  Xat- 
ure  gave  me  a  propensity  to  their  way  of  life,  she  had 
not  left  me  altogether  destitute  of  qualifications  for  it ; 
though  I  could  not  denv  that  my  talent  was  less  re- 

o  \j  \J 

spectable,  and  might  be  less  profitable,  than  the  mean 
est  of  theirs.  My  design,  in  short,  was  to  imitate  the 
story-tellers  of  whom  Oriental  travellers  have  told  us, 
and  become  an  itinerant  novelist,  reciting  my  own  ex 
temporaneous  fictions  to  such  audiences  as  I  could  col 
lect. 


410  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

"Either  this,"  said  I,  "is  my  vocation,  or  I  have 
been  born  in  vain." 

The  fortune-teller,  with  a  sly  wink  to  the  company, 
proposed  to  take  me  as  an  apprentice  to  one  or  other 
of  his  professions,  either  of  which,  undoubtedly,  would 
have  given  full  scope  to  whatever  inventive  talent  I 
might  possess.  The  bibliopolist  spoke  a  few  words  in 
opposition  to  my  plan,  influenced  partly,  I  suspect,  by 
the  jealousy  of  authorship,  and  partly  by  an  apprehen 
sion  that  the  viva  voce  practice  would  become  general 
among  novelists,  to  the  infinite  detriment  of  the  book 
trade.  Dreading  a  rejection,  I  solicited  the  interest 
of  the  merry  damsel. 

"  Mirth,"  cried  I,  most  aptly  appropriating  the 
words  of  L' Allegro,  "  to  thee  I  sue  !  Mirth,  admit 
me  of  thy  crew ! " 

"  Let  us  indulge  the  poor  youth,"  said  Mirth,  with  a 
kindness  which  made  me  love  her  dearly,  though  I  was 
no  such  coxcomb  as  to  misinterpret  her  motives.  "  I 
have  espied  much  promise  in  him.  True,  a  shadow 
sometimes  flits  across  his  brow,  but  the  sunshine  is 
sure  to  follow  in  a  moment.  He  is  never  guilty  of  a 
sad  thought,  but  a  merry  one  is  twin  born  with  it. 
We  will  take  him  with  us ;  and  you  shall  see  that  he 
will  set  us  all  a-laughing  before  we  reach  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford." 

Her  voice  silenced  the  scruples  of  the  rest,  and 
gained  me  admittance  into  the  league ;  according  to 
the  terms  of  which,  without  a  community  of  goods  or 
profits,  we  were  to  lend  each  other  all  the  aid,  and 
avert  all  the  harm,  that  might  be  in  our  power.  This 
affair  settled,  a  marvellous  jollity  entered  into  the 
whole  tribe  of  us,  manifesting  itself  characteristically 
in  each  individual.  The  old  showman,  sitting  down, 


THE   SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  411 

to  his  barrel  organ,  stirred  up  the  souls  of  the  pygmy 
people  with  one  of  the  quickest  tunes  in  the  music 
book  ;  tailors,  blacksmiths,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  all 
seemed  to  share  in  the  spirit  of  the  occasion  ;  and  the 
Merry  Andrew  played  his  part  more  facetiously  than 
ever,  nodding  and  winking  particularly  at  me.  The 
young  foreigner  flourished  his  fiddle  bow  with  a  mas 
ter's  hand,  and  gave  an  inspiring  echo  to  the  show 
man's  melody.  The  bookish  man  and  the  merry  dam 
sel  started  up  simultaneously  to  dance  ;  the  former 
enacting  the  double  shuffle  in  a  style  which  every 
body  must  have  witnessed  ere  Election  week  was 
blotted  out  of  time ;  while  the  girl,  setting  her  arms 
akimbo  with  both  hands  at  her  slim  waist,  displayed 
such  light  rapidity  of  foot,  and  harmony  of  varying 
attitude  and  motion,  that  I  could  not  conceive  how  she 
ever  was  to  stop  ;  imagining,  at  the  moment,  that  Xat- 
ure  had  made  her,  as  the  old  showman  had  made  his 
puppets,  for  no  earthly  purpose  but  to  dance  jigs. 
The  Indian  bellowed  forth  a  succession  of  most  hid 
eous  outcries,  somewhat  affrighting  us  till  we  inter 
preted  them  as  the  war-song,  with  which,  in  imitation 
of  his  ancestors,  he  was  prefacing  the  assault  on  Stam 
ford.  The  conjurer,  meanwhile,  sat  demurely  in  a  cor 
ner,  extracting  a  sly  enjoyment  from  the  whole  scene, 
and.  like  the  facetious  Mem-  Andrew,  directing  his 
queer  glance  particularly  at  me. 

As  for  myself,  with  great  exhilaration  of  fancy,  I 
began  to  arrange  and  color  the  incidents  of  a  tale, 
wherewith  I  proposed  to  amuse  an  audience  that  very 
evening  ;  for  I  saw  that  my  associates  were  a  little 
ashamed  of  me,  and  that  110  time  was  to  be  lost  in  ob 
taining  a  public  acknowledgment  of  my  abilities. 

"  Come,  fellow-laborers,"  at  last  said  the  old  show- 


412  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

man,  whom  we  had  elected  President ;  "  the  shower  is 
over,  and  we  must  be  doing  our  duty  by  these  poor 
souls  at  Stamford." 

"  We  '11  come  among  them  in  procession  with  music 
and  dancing,"  cried  the  merry  damsel. 

Accordingly  —  for  it  must  be  understood  that  our 
pilgrimage  was  to  be  performed  on  foot  —  we  sallied 
joyously  out  of  the  wagon,  each  of  us,  even  the  old 
gentleman  in  his  white  top-boots,  giving  a  great  skip 
as  we  came  down  the  ladder.  Above  our  heads  there 
was  such  a  glory  of  sunshine  and  splendor  of  clouds, 
and  such  brightness  of  verdure  below,  that,  as  I  mod 
estly  remarked  at  the  time,  Nature  seemed  to  have 
washed  her  face,  and  put  on  the  best  of  her  jewelry 
and  a  fresh  green  gown,  in  honor  of  our  confederation. 
Casting  our  eyes  northward,  we  beheld  a  horseman  ap 
proaching  leisurely,  and  splashing  through  the  little 
puddles  on  the  Stamford  road.  Onward  he  came, 
sticking  up  in  his  saddle  with  rigid  perpendicularity,  a 
tall,  thin  figure  in  rusty  black,  whom  the  showman  and 
the  conjurer  shortly  recognized  to  be,  what  his  aspect 
sufficiently  indicated,  -  travelling  preacher  of  great 
fame  among  the  Methodists.  What  puzzled  us  was 
the  fact  that  his  face  appeared  turned  from,  instead  of 
to,  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford.  However,  as  this 
new  votary  of  the  wandering  life  drew  near  the  little 
green  space  where  the  guide-post  and  our  wagon  were 
situated,  my  six  fellow-vagabonds  and  myself  rushed 
forward  and  surrounded  him,  crying  out  with  united 
voices,  — 

"  What  news,  what  news  from  the  camp-meeting  at 
Stamford?" 

The  missionary  looked  down  in  surprise  at  as  singu- 
lar  a  knot  of  people  as  could  have  been  selected  from 


THE  SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  418 

all  his  heterogeneous  auditors.  Indeed,  considering 
that  we  might  all  be  classified  under  the  general  head 
of  Vagabond,  there  was  great  diversity  of  character 
among  the  grave  old  showman,  the  sly,  prophetic  beg 
gar,  the  fiddling  foreigner  and  his  merry  damsel,  the 
smart  bibliopolist,  the  sombre  Indian,  and  myself,  the 
itinerant  novelist,  a  slender  youth  of  eighteen.  I  even 
fancied  that  a  smile  was  endeavoring  to  disturb  the 
iron  gravity  of  the  preacher's  mouth. 

"  Good  people,"  answered  he,  "  the  camp-meeting  is 
broke  up." 

So  saying,  the  Methodist  minister  switched  his  steed 
and  rode  westward.  Our  union  being  thus  nullified 
by  the  removal  of  its  object,  we  were  sundered  at  once 
to  the  four  winds  of  heaven.  The  fortune-teller  giv- 
ing  a  nod  to  all,  and  a  peculiar  wink  to  me,  departed 
on  his  northern  tour,  chuckling  within  himself  as  he 
took  the  Stamford  road.  The  old  showman  and  his 
literary  coadjutor  were  already  tackling  their  horses 
to  the  wagon,  with  a  design  to  peregrinate  southwest 
along  the  sea-coast.  The  foreigner  and  the  merry 
damsel  took  their  laughing  leave,  and  pursued  the 
eastern  road,  which  I  had  that  day  trodden ;  as  they 
passed  away,  the  young  mar  played  a  lively  strain  and 
the  girl's  happy  spirit  broke  into  a  dance  :  and  thus, 
dissolving,  as  it  were,  into  sunbeams  and  gay  music, 
that  pleasant  pair  departed  from  my  view.  Finally, 
with  a  pensive  shadow  thrown  across  my  mind,  yet  en 
vious  of  the  light  philosophy  of  my  late  companions,  I 
joined  myself  to  the  Penobscot  Indian  and  set  forth 
towards  the  distant  city. 


THE   WHITE   OLD   MAID. 

THE  moonbeams  came  through  two  deep  and  nar 
row  windows,  and  showed  a  spacious  chamber  richly 
furnished  in  an  antique  fashion.  From  one  lattice 
the  shadow  of  the  diamond  panes  was  thrown  upon 
the  floor ;  the  ghostly  light,  through  the  other,  slept 
upon  a  bed,  falling  between  the  heavy  silken  curtains, 
and  illuminating  the  face  of  a  young  man.  But,  how 
quietly  the  slumberer  lay !  how  pale  his  features !  and 
how  like  a  shroud  the  sheet  was  wound  about  his 
frame  !  Yes ;  it  was  a  corpse,  in  its  burial  clothes. 

Suddenly,  the  fixed  features  seemed  to  move  with 
dark  emotion.  Strange  fantasy !  It  was  but  the 
shadow  of  the  fringed  curtain  waving  betwixt  the  dead 
face  and  the  moonlight,  as  the  door  of  the  chamber 
opened  and  a  girl  stole  softly  to  the  bedside.  Was 
there  delusion  in  the  moonbeams,  or  did  her  gesture 
and  her  eye  betray  a  gleam  of  triumph,  as  she  bent 
over  the  pale  corpse  —  pale  as  itself — and  pressed  her 
living  lips  to  the  cold  ones  of  the  dead  ?  As  she  drew 
back  from  that  long  kiss,  her  features  writhed  as  if 
a  proud  heart  were  fighting  with  its  anguish.  Again 
it  seemed  that  the  features  of  the  corpse  had  moved 
responsive  to  her  own.  Still  an  illusion !  The  silken 
curtain  had  waved,  a  second  time,  betwixt  the  dead 
face  and  the  moonlight,  as  another  fair  young  girl  un 
closed  the  door,  and  glided,  ghost-like,  to  the  bedside. 
There  the  two  maidens  stood,  both  beautiful,  with  the 
pale  beauty  of  the  dead  between  them.  But  she  who 


THE    WHITE   OLD  MAID.  415 

had  first  entered  was  proud  and  stately,  and  the  other 
a  soft  and  fragile  thing. 

"  Away ! "  cried  the  lofty  one.  "  Thou  hadst  him 
living !  The  dead  is  mine !  " 

"  Thine  !  "  returned  the  other,  shuddering.  "  'Well 
hast  thou  spoken  !  The  dead  is  thine  !  " 

The  proud  girl  started,  and  stared  into  her  face 
with  a  ghastly  look.  But  a  wild  and  mournful  ex 
pression  passed  across  the  features  of  the  gentle  one ; 
and  weak  and  helpless,  she  sank  down  on  the  bed,  her 
head  pillowed  beside  that  of  the  corpse,  and  her  hair 
mingling  with  his  dark  locks.  A  creature  of  hope  and 
joy,  the  first  draught  of  sorrow  had  bewildered  her. 

"  Edith  !  "  cried  her  rival. 

Edith  groaned,  as  with  a  sudden  compression  of  the 
heart ;  and  removing  her  cheek  from  the  dead  youth's 
pillow,  she  stood  upright,  fearfully  encountering  the 
eyes  of  the  lofty  girl. 

"  AVilt  thou  betray  me?  "  said  the  latter,  calmly. 

"  Till  the  dead  bid  me  speak,  I  will  be  silent,"  an 
swered  Edith.  "  Leave  us  alone  together  !  Go,  and 
live  many  years,  and  then  return,  and  tell  me  of  thy 
life.  He,  too,  will  be  here!  Then,  if  thou  tellest  of 
sufferings  more  than  death,  we  will  both  forgive  thee." 

"And  what  shall  be  the  token?  "  asked  the  proud 
girl,  as  if  her  heart  acknowledged  a  meaning  in  these 
wild  words. 

"  This  lock  of  hair,"  said  Edith,  lifting  one  of  the 
dark,  clustering  curls  that  lay  heavily  on  the  dead 
man's  brow. 

The  two  maidens  joined  their  hands  over  the  bosom 
of  the  corpse,  and  appointed  a  day  and  hour,  far,  far 
in  time  to  come,  for  their  next  meeting  in  that  cham 
ber.  The  statelier  girl  gave  one  deep  look  at  the  mo- 


416  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

tionless  countenance,  and  departed — yet  turned  again 
and  trembled  ere  she  closed  the  door,  almost  believing 
that  her  dead  lover  frowned  upon  her.  And  Edith, 
too !  Was  not  her  white  form  fading  into  the  moon 
light  ?  Scorning  her  own  weakness  she  went  forth, 
and  perceived  that  a  negro  slave  was  waiting  in  the 
passage  with  a  wax -light,  which  he  held  between  her 
face  and  his  own,  and  regarded  her,  as  she  thought, 
with  an  ugly  expression  of  merriment.  Lifting  his 
torch  on  high,  the  slave  lighted  her  down  the  stair 
case,  and  undid  the  portal  of  the  mansion.  The  young 
clergyman  of  the  town  had  just  ascended  the  steps, 
and  bowing  to  the  lady,  passed  in  without  a  word. 

Years,  many  years,  rolled  on ;  the  world  seemed 
new  again,  so  much  older  was  it  grown  since  the  night 
when  those  pale  girls  had  clasped  their  hands  across 
the  bosom  of  the  corpse.  In  the  interval,  a  lonely 
woman  had  passed  from  youth  to  extreme  age,  and 
was  known  by  all  the  town  as  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet."  A  taint  of  insanity  had  affected 
her  whole  life,  but  so  quiet,  sad,  and  gentle,  so  utterly 
free  from  violence,  that  she  was  suffered  to  pursue 
her  harmless  fantasies,  unmolested  by  the  world,  with 
whose  business  or  pleasures  she  had  nought  to  do. 
She  dwelt  alone,  and  never  came  into  the  daylight, 
except  to  follow  funerals.  Whenever  a  corpse  was 
borne  along  the  street  in  sunshine,  rain,  or  snow: 
whether  a  pompous  train  of  the  rich  and  proud 
thronged  after  it,  or  few  and  humble  were  the  mourn 
ers,  behind  them  came  the  lonely  woman  in  a  long 
white  garment  which  the  people  called  her  shroud. 
She  took  no  place  among  the  kindred  or  the  friends, 
but  stood  at  the  door  to  hear  the  funeral  prayer,  and 
walked  in  the  rear  of  the  procession,  as  one  whose 


THE   WHITE   OLD  MAID.  417 

earthly  charge  it  was  to  haunt  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  be  the  shadow  of  affliction,  and  see  that  the  dead 
were  duly  buried.  So  long  had  this  been  her  custom 
that  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  deemed  her  a  part  of 
every  funeral,  as  much  as  the  coffin  pall,  or  the  very 
corpse  itself,  and  augured  ill  of  the  sinner's  destiny 
unless  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding  Sheet"  came 
gliding,  like  a  ghost,  behind.  Once,  it  is  said,  she 
affrighted  a  bridal  party  with  her  pale  presence,  ap 
pearing  suddenly  in  the  illuminated  hall,  just  as  the 
priest  was  uniting  a  false  maid  to  a  wealthy  man,  be 
fore  her  lover  had  been  dead  a  year.  Evil  was  the 
omen  to  that  marriage !  Sometimes  she  stole  forth  by 
moonlight  and  visited  the  graves  of  venerable  Integ 
rity,  and  wedded  Love,  and  virgin  Innocence,  and 
every  spot  where  the  ashes  of  a  kind  and  f  aithf  ul  heart 
were  mouldering.  Over  the  hillocks  of  those  favored 
dead  woidd  she  stretch  out  her  arms,  with  a  gesture, 
as  if  she  were  scattering  seeds ;  and  many  believed 
that  she  brought  them  from  the  garden  of  Paradise ; 
for  the  graves  which  she  had  visited  were  green  be 
neath  the  snow,  and  covered  with  sweet  flowers  from 
April  to  November.  Her  blessing  was  better  than  a 
holy  verse  upon  the  tombstone.  Thus  wore  away  her 
long,  sad,  peaceful,  and  fantastic  life,  till  few  were  so 
old  as  she,  and  the  people  of  later  generations  won 
dered  how  the  dead  had  ever  been  buried,  or  mourners 
had  endured  their  grief,  without  the  "  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding  Sheet." 

Still  years  went  on,  and  still  she  followed  funerals, 
and  was  not  yet  summoned  to  her  own  festival  of 
death.  One  afternoon  the  great  street  of  the  town 
was  all  alive  with  business  and  bustle,  though  the  suii 
now  gilded  only  the  upper  half  of  the  church  spir**, 

VOL.  i.  27 


418  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

having  left  the  housetops  and  loftiest  trees  in  shadow. 
The  scene  was  cheerful  and  animated,  in  spite  of  the 
sombre  shade  between  the  high  brick  buildings.  Here 
were  pompous  merchants,  in  white  wigs  and  laced 
velvet ;  the  bronzed  faces  of  sea-captains  ;  the  foreign 
garb  and  air  of  Spanish  Creoles ;  and  the  disdainful 
port  of  natives  of  Old  England ;  all  contrasted  with 
the  rough  aspect  of  one  or  two  back  settlers,  negoti 
ating  sales  of  timber  from  forests  where  axe  had  never 
sounded.  Sometimes  a  lady  passed,  swelling  roundly 
forth  in  an  embroidered  petticoat,  balancing  her  steps 
in  high-heeled  shoes,  and  courtesying  with  lofty  grace 
to  the  punctilious  obeisances  of  the  gentlemen.  The 
life  of  the  town  seemed  to  have  its  very  centre  not 
far  from  an  old  mansion  that  stood  somewhat  back 
from  the  pavement,  surrounded  by  neglected  grass, 
with  a  strange  air  of  loneliness,  rather  deepened  than 
dispelled  by  the  throng  so  near  it.  Its  site  would 
have  been  suitably  occupied  by  a  magnificent  Ex 
change  or  a  brick  block,  lettered  all  over  with  various 
signs ;  or  the  large  house  itself  might  have  made  a 
noble  tavern,  with  the  "  King's  Arms  "  swinging  be 
fore  it,  and  guests  in  every  chamber,  instead  of  the 
present  solitude.  But  owing  to  some  dispute  about 
the  right  of  inheritance,  the  mansion  had  been  long 
without  a  tenant,  decaying  from  year  to  year,  and 
throwing  the  stately  gloom  of  its  shadow  over  the 
busiest  part  of  the  town.  Such  was  the  scene,  and 
such  the  time,  when  a  figure  unlike  any  that  have 
been  described  was  observed  at  a  distance  down  the 
street. 

"  I  espy  a  strange  sail,  yonder,"  remarked  a  Liver 
pool  captain ;  "  that  woman  in  the  long  white  gar- 
ment !  " 


THE    WHITE    OLD   MAID.  419 

The  sailor  seemed  much  struck  by  the  object,  as 
were  several  others  who,  at  the  same  moment,  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  figure  that  had  attracted  his  notice. 
Almost  immediately  the  various  topics  of  conversa 
tion  gave  place  to  speculations,  in  an  undertone,  on 
this  unwonted  occurrence. 

"  Can  there  be  a  funeral  so  late  this  afternoon  ?  " 
inquired  some. 

They  looked  for  the  signs  of  death  at  every  door  — 
the  sexton,  the  hearse,  the  assemblage  of  black-clad 
relatives  —  all  that  makes  up  the  woful  pomp  of  fu 
nerals.  They  raised  their  eyes,  also,  to  the  sun-gilt 
spire  of  the  church,  and  wondered  that  no  clang  pro 
ceeded  from  its  bell,  which  had  always  tolled  till  now 
when  this  figure  appeared  in  the  light  of  day.  But 
none  had  heard  that  a  corpse  was  to  be  borne  to  its 
home  that  afternoon,  nor  was  there  any  token  of  a 
funeral,  except  the  apparition  of  the  '•  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding  Sheet." 

u  What  may  this  portend  ?  "  asked  each  man  of  his 
neighbor. 

All  smiled  as  they  put  the  question,  yet  with  a  cer 
tain  trouble  in  their  eyes,  as  if  pestilence  or  some 
other  wide  calamity  were  prognosticated  by  the  un 
timely  intrusion  among  the  living  of  one  whose  pres 
ence  had  always  been  associated  with  death  and  woe. 
What  a  comet  is  to  the  earth  was  that  sad  woman  to 
the  town.  Still  she  moved  on,  while  the  hum  of  sur 
prise  was  hushed  at  her  approach,  and  the  proud  and 
the  humble  stood  aside,  that  her  white  garment  might 
not  wave  against  them.  It  was  a  long,  loose  robe,  of 
spotless  purity.  Its  wearer  appeared  very  old,  pale, 
emaciated,  and  feeble,  yet  glided  onward  without  the 
unsteady  pace  of  extreme  age.  At  one  point  of  her 


420  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

course  a  little  rosy  boy  burst  forth  from  a  door,  and 
ran,  with  open  arms,  towards  the  ghostly  woman,  seem 
ing  to  expect  a  kiss  from  her  bloodless  lips.  She  made 
a  slight  pause,  fixing  her  eye  upon  him  with  an  expres 
sion  of  no  earthly  sweetness,  so  that  the  child  shivered 
and  stood  awe-struck,  rather  than  affrighted,  while  the 
Old  Maid  passed  on.  Perhaps  her  garment  might 
have  been  polluted  even  by  an  infant's  touch;  perhaps 
her  kiss  would  have  been  death  to  the  sweet  boy  within 
a  year. 

"  She  is  but  a  shadow,"  whispered  the  superstitious. 
"  The  child  put  forth  his  arms  and  could  not  grasp  her 
robe!" 

The  wonder  was  increased  when  the  Old  Maid 
passed  beneath  the  porch  of  the  deserted  mansion,  as 
cended  the  moss-covered  steps,  lifted  the  iron  knocker, 
and  gave  three  raps.  The  people  could  only  conjec 
ture  that  some  old  remembrance,  troubling  her  bewil 
dered  brain,  had  impelled  the  poor  woman  hither  to 
visit  the  friends  of  her  youth  ;  all  gone  from  their 
home  long  since  and  forever,  unless  their  ghosts  still 
haunted  it  —  fit  company  for  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding  Sheet."  An  elderly  man  approached  the 
steps,  and,  reverently  uncovering  his  gray  locks,  es 
sayed  to  explain  the  matter. 

"None,  Madam,"  said  he,  "have  dwelt  in  this 
house  these  fifteen  years  agone  —  no,  not  since  the 
death  of  old  Colonel  Fenwicke,  whose  funeral  you 
may  remember  to  have  followed.  His  heirs,  being 
ill  agreed  among  themselves,  have  let  the  mansion- 
house  go  to  ruin." 

The  Old  Maid  looked  slowly  round  with  a  slight 
gesture  of  one  hand,  and  a  finger  of  the  other  upon 
her  lip,  appearing  more  shadow-like  than  ever  in  the 


• 


THE   WHITE   OLD  MAID.  421 

obscurity  of  the  porch.  But  again  she  lifted  the  ham 
mer,  and  gave,  this  time,  a  single  rap.  Could  it  be 
that  a  footstep  was  now  heard  coming  down  the  stair 
case  of  the  old  mansion,  which  all  conceived  to  have 
been  so  long  untenanted  ?  Slowly,  feebly,  yet  heavily, 
like  the  pace  of  an  aged  and  infirm  person,  the  step 
approached,  more  distinct  on  every  downward  stair, 
till  it  reached  the  portal.  The  bar  fell  on  the  inside  ; 
the  door  was  opened.  One  upward  glance  towards 
the  church  spire,  whence  the  sunshine  had  just  faded, 
was  the  last  that  the  people  saw  of  the  '*  Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding  Sheet." 

"  Who  undid  the  door  ?  v  asked  many. 

This  question,  owing  to  the  depth  of  shadow  be 
neath  the  porch,  no  one  could  satisfactorily  answer. 
Two  or  three  aged  men,  while  protesting  against  an 
inference  which  might  be  drawn,  affirmed  that  the 
person  within  was  a  negro,  and  bore  a  singular  resem 
blance  to  old  CaBsar,  formerly  a  slave  in  the  house,  but 
freed  by  death  some  thirty  years  before. 

"  Her  summons  has  waked  up  a  servant  of  the  old 
family,"  said  one,  half  seriously. 

"  Let  us  wait  here,"  replied  another.  "  More  guests 
will  knock  at  the  door,  anon.  But  the  gate  of  the 
graveyard  should  be  thrown  open  !  " 

Twilight  had  overspread  the  town  before  the  crowd 
began  to  separate,  or  the  comments  on  this  incident 
were  exhausted.  One  after  another  was  wending  his 
way  homeward,  when  a  coach  —  no  common  spectacle 
in  those  days  —  drove  slowly  into  the  street.  It  was 
an  old-fashioned  equipage,  hanging  close  to  the  ground, 
with  arms  on  the  panels,  a  footman  behind,  and  a 
grave,  corpulent  coachman  seated  high  in  front  —  the 
whole  giving  an  idea  of  solemn  state  and  dignity. 


422  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

There  was  something  awful  in  the  heavy  rumbling  of 
the  wheels.  The  coach  rolled  down  the  street,  till, 
coming  to  the  gateway  of  the  deserted  mansion,  it 
drew  up,  and  the  footman  sprang  to  the  ground. 

"  Whose  grand  coach  is  this  ?  "  asked  a  very  in 
quisitive  body. 

The  footman  made  no  reply,  but  ascended  the  steps 
of  the  old  house,  gave  three  raps  with  the  iron  ham 
mer,  and  returned  to  open  the  coach  door.  An  old 
man,  possessed  of  the  heraldic  lore  so  common  in  that 
day,  examined  the  shield  of  arms  on  the  panel. 

"  Azure,  a  lion's  head  erased,  between  three  flower- 
de-luces,"  said  he;  then  whispered  the  name  of  the 
family  to  whom  these  bearings  belonged.  Tire  last 
inheritor  of  his  honors  was  recently  dead,  after  a  long 
residence  amid  the  splendor  of  the  British  court,  where 
his  birth  and  wealth  had  given  him  no  mean  station. 
"  He  left  no  child,"  continued  the  herald,  "  and  these 
arms,  being  in  a  lozenge,  betoken  that  the  coach  ap 
pertains  to  his  widow." 

Further  disclosures,  perhaps,  might  have  been  made, 
had  not  the  speaker  suddenly  been  struck  dumb  by 
the  stern  eye  of  an  ancient  lady  who  thrust  forth  her 
head  from  the  coach,  preparing  to  descend.  As  she 
emerged,  the  people  saw  that  her  dress  was  magnifi 
cent,  and  her  figure  dignified,  in  spite  of  age  and  in 
firmity  —  a  stately  ruin  but  with  a  look,  at  once,  of 
pride  and  wretchedness.  Her  strong  and  rigid  feat 
ures  had  an  awe  about  them,  unlike  that  of  the  white 
Old  Maid,  but  as  of  something  evil.  She  passed  up 
the  steps,  leaning  on  a  gold-headed  cane  ;  the  door 
swung  open  as  she  ascended  —  and  the  light  of  a 
torch  glittered  on  the  embroidery  of  her  dress,  and 
gleamed  on  the  pillars  of  the  porch.  After  a  momen- 


THE   WHITE   OLD  MAID.  423 

tary  pause  —  a  glance  backwards  —  and  then  a  des 
perate  effort  —  she  went  in.  The  decipherer  of  the 
coat  of  arms  had  ventured  up  the  lowest  step,  and 
shrinking  back  immediately,  pale  and  tremulous,  af 
firmed  that  the  torch  was  held  by  the  very  image  of 
old  Cffisar. 

"  But  such  a  hideous  grin,"  added  he,  "  was  never 
seen  on  the  face  of  mortal  man,  black  or  white  !  It 
will  haunt  me  till  my  dying  day." 

Meantime,  the  coach  had  wheeled  round,  with  a 
prodigious  clatter  on  the  pavement,  and  rumbled  up 
the  street,  disappearing  in  the  twilight,  while  the  ear 
still  tracked  its  course.  Scarcely  was  it  gone,  when 
the  people  began  to  question  whether  the  coach  and 
attendants,  the  ancient  lady,  the  spectre  of  old  Caesar, 
and  the  Old  Maid  herself,  were  not  all  a  strangely 
combined  delusion,  with  some  dark  purport  in  its  mys 
tery.  The  whole  town  was  astir,  so  that,  instead  of 
dispersing,  the  crowd  continually  increased,  and  stood 
gazing  up  at  the  windows  of  the  mansion,  now  silvered 
by  the  brightening  moon.  The  elders,  glad  to  indulge 
the  narrative  propensity  of  age,  told  of  the  long-faded 
splendor  of  the  family,  the  entertainments  they  had. 
given,  and  the  guests,  the  greatest  of  the  land,  and 
even  titled  and  noble  ones  from  abroad,  who  had 
passed  beneath  that  portal.  These  graphic  reminis 
cences  seemed  to  call  up  the  ghosts  of  those  to  whom 
they  referred.  So  strong  was  the  impression  on  some 
of  the  more  imaginative  hearers,  that  two  or  three 
were  seized  with  trembling  fits,  at  one  and  the  same 
moment,  protesting  that  they  had  distinctly  heard 
three  other  raps  of  the  iron  knocker. 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  others.  "  See  !  The 
moon  shines  beneath  the  porch,  and  shows  every  part 


424  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  it,  except  in  the  narrow  shade  of  that  pillar.  There 
is  no  one  there  !  " 

"  Did  not  the  door  open  ?  "  whispered  one  of  these 
fanciful  persons. 

"  Didst  thou  see  it,  too  ?  "  said  his  companion,  in  a 
startled  tone. 

But  the  general  sentiment  was  opposed  to  the  idea 
that  a  third  visitant  had  made  application  at  the  door 
of  the  deserted  house.  A  few,  however,  adhered  to 
this  new  marvel,  and  even  declared  that  a  red  gleam 
like  that  of  a  torch  had  shone  through  the  great  front 
window,  as  if  the  negro  were  lighting  a  guest  up  the 
staircase.  This,  too,  was  pronounced  a  mere  fantasy. 
But  at  once  the  whole  multitude  started,  and  each 
man  beheld  his  own  terror  painted  in  the  faces  of  all 
the  rest. 

"  What  an  awful  thing  is  this !  "  cried  they. 

A  shriek  too  fearfully  distinct  for  doubt  had  been 
heard  within  the  mansion,  breaking  forth  suddenly, 
and  succeeded  by  a  deep  stillness,  as  if  a  heart  had 
burst  in  giving  it  utterance.  The  people  knew  not 
whether  to  fly  from  the  very  sight  of  the  house,  or  to 
rush  trembling  in,  and  search  out  the  strange  mys 
tery.  Amid  their  confusion  and  affright,  they  are 
somewhat  reassured  by  the  appearance  of  their  cler 
gyman,  a  venerable  patriarch,  and  equally  a  saint, 
who  had  taught  them  and  their  fathers  the  way  to 
heaven  for  more  than  the  space  of  an  ordinary  life 
time.  He  was  a  reverend  figure,  with  long,  white 
hair  upon  his  shoulders,  a  white  beard  upon  his  breast, 
and  a  back  so  bent  over  his  staff  that  he  seemed  to 
be  looking  downward  continually,  as  if  to  choose  a 
proper  grave  for  his  weary  frame.  It  was  some  time 
before  the  good  old  man,  being  deaf  and  of  impaired 


• 


THE  WHITE   OLD  MAID.  425 

intellect,  could  be  made  to  comprehend  such  portions 
of  the  affair  as  were  comprehensible  at  all.  But, 
when  possessed  of  the  facts,  his  energies  assumed  un 
expected  vigor. 

"  Verily,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  it  will  be  fitting 
that  I  enter  the  mansion-house  of  the  worthy  Colonel 
Fenwicke,  lest  any  harm  should  haye  befallen  that 
true  Christian  woman  whom  ve  call  the  4  Old  Maid 
in  the  Winding  Sheet.'  ' 

Behold,  then,  the  venerable  clergyman  ascending  the 
steps  of  the  mansion,  with  a  torch-bearer  behind  him. 
It  was  the  elderly  man  who  had  spoken  to  the  Old 
Maid,  and  the  same  who  had  afterwards  explained  the 
shield  of  arms  and  recognized  the  features  of  the  ne 
gro.  Like  their  predecessors,  they  gave  three  raps 
with  the  iron  hammer. 

44  Old  Cassar  cometh  not,"  observed  the  priest. 
"  Well  I  wot  he  no  longer  doth  service  in  this  man 
sion.'* 

u  Assuredly,  then,  it  was  something  worse,  in  old 
Caesar's  likeness  !  "  said  the  other  adventurer. 

"  Be  it  as  God  wills,"  answered  the  clergyman. 
"  See  !  my  strength,  though  it  be  much  decayed,  hath 
sufficed  to  open  this  heavy  door.  Let  us  enter  and 
pass  up  the  staircase." 

Here  occurred  a  singular  exemplification  of  the 
dreamy  state  of  a  very  old  man's  mind.  As  they 
ascended  the  wide  flight  of  stairs,  the  aged  clergy 
man  appeared  to  move  with  caution,  occasionally 
standing  aside,  and  oftener  bending  his  head,  as  it 
were  in  salutation,  thus  practising  all  the  gestures  of 
one  who  makes  his  way  through  a  throng.  Reaching 
the  head  of  the  staircase,  he  looked  around  with  sad 
and  solemn  benignit}',  laid  aside  his  staff,  bared  his 


426  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

hoary  locks,  and  was  evidently  on  the  point  of  com- 
mencing  a  prayer. 

"  Reverend  Sir,"  said  his  attendant,  who  conceived 
this  a  very  suitable  prelude  to  their  further  search, 
"  would  it  not  be  well  that  the  people  join  with  us  in 
prayer  ?  " 

"  Welladay ! "  cried  the  old  clergyman,  staring 
strangely  around  him.  "  Art  thou  here  with  me, 
and  none  other?  Verily,  past  times  were  present 
to  me,  and  I  deemed  that  I  was  to  make  a  funeral 
prayer,  as  many  a  time  heretofore,  from  the  head  of 
this  staircase.  Of  a  truth,  I  saw  the  shades  of  many 
that  are  gone.  Yea,  I  have  prayed  at  their  burials, 
one  after  another,  and  the  '  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding 
Sheet '  hath  seen  them  to  their  graves  !  " 

Being  now  more  thoroughly  awake  to  their  present 
purpose,  he  took  his  staff  and  struck  forcibly  on  the 
floor,  till  there  came  an  echo  from  each  deserted  cham 
ber,  but  no  menial  to  answer  their  summons.  They 
therefore  walked  along  the  passage,  and  again  paused, 
opposite  to  the  great  front  window  through  which  was 
seen  the  crowd,  in  the  shadow  and  partial  moonlight  of 
the  street  beneath.  On  their  right  hand  was  the  open 
door  of  a  chamber,  and  a  closed  one  on  their  left.  The 
clergyman  pointed  his  cane  to  the  carved  oak  panel  of 
the  latter. 

"Within  that  chamber,"  observed  he,  "a  whole 
life-time  since,  did  I  sit  by  the  death-bed  of  a  goodly 
young  man,  who,  being  now  at  the  last  gasp  " 

Apparently  there  was  some  powerful  excitement  in 
the  ideas  which  had  now  flashed  across  his  mind.  He 
snatched  the  torch  from  his  companion's  hand,  and 
threw  open  the  door  with  such  sudden  violence  that 
the  flame  was  extinguished,  leaving  them  no  other 


THE    WHITE   OLD  MAID.  427 

light  than  the  moonbeams,  which  fell  through  two 
windows  into  the  spacious  chamber.  It  was  sufficient 
to  discover  all  that  could  be  known.  In  a  high-backed 
oaken  arm-chair,  upright,  with  her  hands  clasped 
across  her  breast,  and  her  head  thrown  back,  sat  the 
"Old  Maid  in  the  Winding  Sheet."  The  stately 
dame  had  fallen  on  her  knees,  with  her  forehead  011 
the  holy  knees  of  the  Old  Maid,  one  hand  upon  the 
floor  and  the  other  pressed  convulsively  against  her 
heart.  It  clutched  a  lock  of  hair,  once  sable,  now  dis 
colored  with  a  greenish  mould.  As  the  priest  and  lay 
man  advanced  into  the  chamber,  the  Old  Maid's  feat 
ures  assumed  such  a  semblance  of  shifting  expression 
that  they  trusted  to  hear  the  whole  mystery  explained 
by  a  single  word.  But  it  was  only  the  shadow  of  a 
tattered  curtain  waving  betwixt  the  dead  face  and  the 
moonlight. 

u  Both  dead  !  "  said  the  venerable  man.  "  Then 
who  shall  divulge  the  secret  ?  Methinks  it  glimmers 
to  and  fro  in  my  mind,  like  the  light  and  shadow 
across  the  Old  Maid's  face.  And  now  't  is  gone  !  " 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE. 

"  AND  so,  Peter,  you  won't  even  consider  of  the 
business  ?  "  said  Mr.  John  Brown,  buttoning  his  sur- 
tout  over  the  snug  rotundity  of  his  person,  and  draw 
ing  on  his  gloves.  "  You  positively  refuse  to  let  me 
have  this  crazy  old  house,  and  tlv>  1and  under  and  ad 
joining,  at  the  price  named  ?  " 

"  Neither  at  that,  nor  treble  the  sum,*'  responded 
the  gaunt,  grizzled,  and  threadbare  Peter  Goldthwaite. 
"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Brown,  you  must  find  another  site 
for  your  brick  block,  and  be  content  to  leave  my  es 
tate  with  the  present  owner.  Next  summer,  I  intend 
to  put  a  splendid  new  mansion  over  the  cellar  of  the 
old  house." 

"  Pho,  Peter !  "  cried  Mr.  Brown,  as  he  opened  the 
kitchen  door  ;  "  content  yourself  with  building  castles 
in  the  air,  where  house-lots  are  cheaper  than  on  earth, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  cost  of  bricks  and  mortar.  Such 
foundations  are  solid  enough  for  your  edifices,  while 
this  underneath  us  is  just  the  thing  for  mine  ;  and  so 
we  may  both  be  suited.  What  say  you  again?" 

"  Precisely  what  I  said  before,  Mr.  Brown,"  an 
swered  Peter  Goldthwaite.  "  And  as  for  castles  in 
the  air,  mine  may  riot  be  as  magnificent  as  that  sort  of 
architecture,  but  perhaps  as  substantial,  Mr.  Brown, 
as  the  very  respectable  brick  block  with  dry  goods 
stores,  tailors'  shops,  and  banking  rooms  on  the  lower 
floor,  and  lawyers'  offices  in  the  second  story,  which 
you  are  so  anxious  to  substitute." 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE 'S   TREASURE.     429 

"  And  the  cost,  Peter,  eh  ?  *'  said  Mr.  Brown,  as  he 
withdrew,  in  something  of  a  pet.  uThat,  I  suppose, 
will  be  provided  for,  off-hand,  by  drawing  a  check  on 
Bubble  Bank!" 

John  Brown  and  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  been  jointly 
known  to  the  commercial  world  between  twenty  and 
thirty  years  before,  under  the  firm  of  Goldthwaite  & 
Brown ;  which  copartnership,  however,  was  speedily 
dissolved  by  the  natural  incongruity  of  its  constituent 
parts.  Since  that  event,  John  Brown,  with  exactly 
the  qualities  of  a  thon  sand  other  John  Browns,  and  by 
just  such  plodding  methods  as  they  used,  had  pros 
pered  wonderfully,  and  become  one  of  the  wealthiest 
John  Browns  011  earth.  Peter  Goldthwaite,  on  the  con 
trary,  after  innumerable  schemes,  which  ought  to  have 
collected  all  the  coin  and  paper  currency  of  the  coun 
try  into  his  coffers,  was  as  needy  a  gentleman  as  ever 
wore  a  patch  upon  his  elbow.  The  contrast  between 
him  and  his  former  partner  may  be  briefly  marked ; 
for  Brown  never  reckoned  upon  luck,  yet  always  had 
it ;  while  Peter  made  luck  the  main  condition  of  his 
projects,  and  always  missed  it.  AVhile  the  means  held 
out,  his  speculations  had  been  magnificent,  but  were 
chiefly  confined,  of  late  years,  to  such  small  business 
as  adventures  in  the  lottery.  Once  he  had  gone  on 
a  gold-gathering  expedition  somewhere  to  the  South, 
and  ingeniously  contrived  to  empty  his  pockets  more 
thoroughly  than  ever :  while  others,  doubtless,  were 
filling  theirs  with  native  bullion  by  the  handful.  More 
recently  he  had  expended  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  or 
two  of  dollars  in  purchasing  Mexican  scrip,  and 
thereby  became  the  proprietor  of  a  province ;  which, 
however,  so  far  as  Peter  could  find  out,  was  situated 
where  he  might  have  had  an  empire  for  the  same 


430  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

money,  —  in  the  clouds.  From  a  search  after  this  val 
uable  real  estate  Peter  returned  so  gaunt  and  thread 
bare  that,  on  reaching  New  England,  fhe  scarecrows 
in  the  cornfields  beckoned  to  him,  as  he  passed  by. 
"They  did  but  flutter  in  the  wind,"  quoth  Peter 
Goldthwaite.  No,  Peter,  they  beckoned,  for  the  scare 
crows  knew  their  brother ! 

At  the  period  -A  our  story  his  whole  visible  income 
would  not  have  paid  the  tax  of  the  old  mansion  in 
which  we  find  him.  It  was  one  of  those  rusty,  moss- 
grown,  many-peaked  wooden  houses,  which  are  scat 
tered  about  the  streets  of  our  elder  towns,  with  a 
beetle-browed  second  story  projecting  over  the  foun 
dation,  as  if  it  frowned  at  the  novelty  around  it.  This 
old  paternal  edifice,  needy  as  he  was,  and  though, 
being  centrally  situated  on  the  principal  street  of  the 
town,  it  would  have  brought  him  a  handsome  sum,  the 
sagacious  Peter  had  his  own  reasons  for  never  parting 
with,  either  by  auction  or  private  sale.  There  seemed, 
indeed,  to  be  a  fatality  that  connected  him  with  his 
birthplace  ;  for,  often  as  he  had  stood  on  the  verge  of 
ruin,  and  standing  there  even  now,  he  had  not  yet 
taken  the  step  beyond  it  which  would  have  compelled 
him  to  surrender  the  house  to  his  creditors.  So  here 
he  dwelt  with  bad  luck  till  good  should  come. 

Here  then  in  his  kitchen,  the  only  room  where  a 
spark  of  fire  took  off  the  chill  of  a  November  even 
ing,  poor  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  just  been  visited  by 
his  rich  old  partner.  At  the  close  of  their  interview, 
Peter,  with  rather  a  mortified  look,  glanced  down 
wards  at  his  dress,  parts  of  which  appeared  as  ancient 
as  the  days  of  Goldthwaite  &  Brown.  His  upper  gar 
ment  was  a  mixed  surtout,  wofully  faded,  and  patched 
with  newer  stuff  on  each  elbow ;  beneath  this  he  wore 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE  JS    TREASURE.     431 

a  threadbare  black  coat,  some  of  the  silk  buttons  of 
which  had  been  replaced  with  others  of  a  different 
pattern  ;  and  lastly,  though  he  lacked  not  a  pair  of 
gray  pantaloons,  they  were  very  shabby  ones,  and  had 
been  partially  turned  brown  'by  the  frequent  toasting 
of  Peter's  shins  before  a  scanty  fire.  Peter's  person 
was  in  keeping  with  his  goodly  apparel.  Gray-headed, 
hollow-eyed,  pale-cheeked,  and  lean-bodied,  he  was 
the  perfect  picture  of  a  man  who  had  fed  on  windy 
schemes  and  empty  hopes,  till  he  could  neither  live  on 
such  unwholesome  trash,  nor  stomach  more  substantial 
food.  But,  withal,  this  Peter  Goldthwaite,  crack- 
brained  simpleton  as,  perhaps,  he  was,  might  have  cut 
a  very  brilliant  figure  in  the  world,  had  he  employed 
his  imagination  in  the  airy  business  of  poetry,  instead 
of  making  it  a  demon  of  mischief  in  mercantile  pur 
suits.  After  all,  he  was  no  bad  fellow,  but  as  harm 
less  as  a  child,  and  as  honest  and  honorable,  and  as 
much  of  the  gentleman  which  nature  meant  him  for, 
as  an  irregular  life  and  depressed  circumstances  will 
permit  any  man  to  be. 

As  Peter  stood  on  the  uneven  bricks  of  his  hearth, 
looking  round  at  the  disconsolate  old  kitchen,  his  eyes 
bea'aii  to  kindle  with  the  illumination  of  an  enthusi- 

O 

asm  that  never  long  deserted  him.  He  raised  his 
hand,  clinched  it,  and  smote  it  energetically  against 
the  smoky  panel  over  the  fireplace. 

"The  time  is  come!"  said  he.  "With  such  a 
treasure  at  command,  it  were  folly  to  be  a  poor  man 
any  longer.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  begin  with  the 
garret,  nor  desist  till  I  have  torn  the  house  down !  " 

Deep  in  the  chimney-corner,  like  a  witch  in  a  dark 
cavern,  sat  a  little  old  woman,  mending  one  of  the 
two  pairs  of  stockings  wherewith  Peter  Goldthwaite 


432  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

kept  his  toes  from  being  frostbitten.  As  the  feet  were 
ragged  past  all  darning,  she  had  cut  pieces  out  of  a 
cast-off  flannel  petticoat,  to  make  new  soles.  Tabitha 
Porter  was  an  old  maid,  upwards  of  sixty  years  of 
age,  fifty-five  of  which  she  had  sat  in  that  same  chim 
ney-corner,  such  being  the  length  of  time  since  Peter's 
grandfather  had  taken  her  from  the  almshouse.  She 
had  no  friend  but  Peter,  nor  Peter  any  friend  but 
Tabitha ;  so  long  as  Peter  might  have  a  shelter  for 
his  own  head,  Tabitha  would  know  where  to  shelter 
hers;  or,  being  homeless  elsewhere,  she  would  take 
her  master  by  the  hand  and  bring  him  to  her  native 
home,  the  almshouso.  Should  it  ever  be  necessary, 
she  loved  him  well  enough  to  feed  him  with  her  last 
morsel,  and  clothe  him  with  her  under  petticoat.  But 
Tabitha  was  a  queer  old  woman,  and,  though  never 
infected  with  Peter's  flightiness,  had  become  so  accus 
tomed  to  his  freaks  and  follies  that  she  viewed  them 
all  as  matters  of  course.  Hearing  him  threaten  to 
tear  the  house  down,  she  looked  quietly  up  from  her 
work. 

"  Best  leave  the  kitchen  till  the  last,  Mr.  Peter," 
said  she. 

"  The  sooner  we  have  it  all  down  the  better,"  said 
Peter  Goldthwaite.  "  I  am  tired  to  death  of  living 
in  this  cold,  dark,  windy,  smoky,  creaking,  groaning, 
dismal  old  house.  I  shall  feel  like  a  younger  man 
when  we  get  into  my  splendid  brick  mansion,  as, 
please  Heaven,  we  shall  by  this  time  next  autumn. 
You  shall  have  a  room  on  the  sunny  side,  old  Tabby, 
finished  and  furnished  as  best  may  suit  your  own  no 
tions." 

"  I  should  like  it  pretty  much  such  a  room  as  this 
kitchen,"  answered  Tabitha.  "  It  will  never  be  like 


• 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.     433 

home  to  me  till  the  chimney-comer  gets  as  black  with 
smoke  as  this  ;  and  that  won't  be  these  hundred  years. 
How  much  do  you  mean  to  lay  out  on  the  house,  Mr. 
Peter  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  the  purpose  ?  "  exclaimed  Peter, 
loftily.  "  Did  not  my  great-granduncle,  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite,  who  died  seventy  years  ago,  and  whose  name 
sake  I  am,  leave  treasure  enough  to  build  twenty 
such  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  but  he  did,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  Tabitha, 
threading  her  needle. 

Tabitha  well  understood  that  Peter  had  reference 
to  an  immense  hoard  of  the  precious  metals,  which 
was  said  to  exist  somewhere  in  the  cellar  or  walls,  or 
under  the  floors,  or  in  some  concealed  closet,  or  other 
out-of-the-way  nook  of  the  house.  This  wealth,  accord 
ing  to  tradition,  had  been  accumulated  by  a  former 
Peter  Goldthwaite,  whose  character  seems  to  have 
borne  a  remarkable  similitude  to  that  of  the  Peter  of 
our  story.  Like  him  he  was  a  wild  projector,  seeking 
to  heap  up  gold  by  the  bushel  and  the  cartload,  in 
stead  of  scraping  it  together,  coin  by  coin.  Like 
Peter  the  second,  too,  his  projects  had  almost  invaria 
bly  failed,  and,  but  for  the  magnificent  success  of  the 
final  one,  would  have  left  him  with  hardly  a  coat  and 
pair  of  breeches  to  his  gaunt  and  grizzled  person. 
Reports  were  various  as  to  the  nature  of  his  fortunate 
speculation  :  one  intimating  that  the  ancient  Peter  had 
made  the  gold  by  alchemy ;  another,  that  he  had  con 
jured  it  out  of  people's  pockets  by  the  black  art ;  and 
a  third,  still  more  unaccountable,  that  the  devil  had 
given  him  free  access  to  the  old  provincial  treasury. 
It  was  affirmed,  however,  that  some  secret  impediment 
had  debarred  him  from  the  enjoyment  of  his  riches, 

VOL.  i.  28 


434  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

and  that  he  had  a  motive  for  concealing  them  from 
his  heir,  or  at  any  rate  had  died  without  disclosing  the 
place  of  deposit.  The  present  Peter's  father  had  faith 
enough  in  the  story  to  cause  the  cellar  to  be  dug  over. 
Peter  himself  chose  to  consider  the  legend  as  an  indis 
putable  truth,  and,  amid  his  many  troubles,  had  this 
one  consolation  that,  should  all  other  resources  fail, 
he  might  build  up  his  fortunes  by  tearing  his  house 
down.  Yet,  unless  he  felt  a  lurking  distrust  of  the, 
golden  tale,  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  his  permitting 
the  paternal  roof  to  stand  so  long,  since  he  had  never 
yet  seen  the  moment  when  his  predecessor's  treasure 
would  not  have  found  plenty  of  room  in  his  own  strong 
box.  But  now  was  the  crisis.  Should  he  delay  the 
search  a  little  longer,  the  house  would  pass  from  the 
lineal  heir,  and  with  it  the  vast  heap  of  gold,  to  re 
main  in  its  burial-place,  till  the  ruin  of  the  aged  walls 
should  discover  it  to  strangers  of  a  future  generation. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Peter  Goldthwaite,  again,  "  to-mor 
row  I  will  set  about  it." 

The  deeper  he  looked  at  the  matter  the  more  cer 
tain  of  success  grew  Peter.  His  spirits  were  natur 
ally  so  elastic  that  even  now,  in  the  blasted  autumn  of 
his  age,  he  could  often  compete  with  the  spring-time 
gayety  of  other  people.  Enlivened  by  his  brightening 
prospects,  he  began  to  caper  about  the  kitchen  like  a 
hobgoblin,  with  the  queerest  antics  of  his  lean  limbs, 
and  gesticulations  of  his  starved  features.  Nay,  in 
the  exuberance  of  his  feelings,  he  seized  both  of  Tab- 
itha's  hands,  and  danced  the  old  lady  across  the  floor, 
till  the  oddity  of  her  rheumatic  motions  set  him  into 
a  roar  of  laughter,  which  was  echoed  back  from  the 
rooms  and  chambers,  as  if  Peter  Goldthwaite  were 
laughing  in  every  one.  Finally  he  bounded  upward. 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.     435 

almost  out  of  sight,  into  the  smoke  that  clouded  the 
roof  of  the  kitchen,  and,  alighting  safely  on  the  floor 
again,  endeavored  to  resume  his  customary  gravity. 

44  To-morrow,  at  sunrise,"  he  repeated,  taking  his 
lamp  to  retire  to  bed,  "  I  '11  see  whether  this  treasure 
be  hid  in  the  wall  of  the  garret." 

44  And  as  we  're  out  of  wood,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  Tab- 
itha,  puffing  and  panting  with  her  late  gymnastics, 
44  as  fast  as  you  tear  the  house  down,  I  '11  make  a  fire 
with  the  pieces." 

Gorgeous  that  night  were  the  dreams  of  Peter 
Goldthwaite  !  At  one  time  he  was  turning  a  ponder 
ous  key  in  an  iron  door  not  unlike  the  door  of  a 
sepulchre,  but  which,  being  opened,  disclosed  a  vault 
heaped  up  with  gold  coin,  as  plentifully  as  golden  corn 
in  a  granary.  There  were  chased  goblets,  also,  and 
tureens,  salvers,  dinner  dishes,  and  dish  covers  of  gold, 
or  silver  gilt,  besides  chains  and  other  jewels,  incalcu 
lably  rich,  though  tarnished  with  the  damps  of  the 
vault ;  for,  of  all  the  wealth  that  was  irrevocably  lost 
to  man,  whether  buried  in  the  earth  or  sunken  in  the 
sea,  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  found  it  in  this  one  treas 
ure-place.  Anon,  he  had  returned  to  the  old  house 
as  poor  as  ever,  and  was  received  at  Ihe  door  by  the 
gaunt  and  grizzled  figure  of  a  man  whom  he  might 
have  mistaken  for  himself,  only  that  his  garments 
were  of  a  much  elder  fashion.  But  the  house,  with 
out  losing  its  former  aspect,  had  been  changed  into  a 
palace  of  the  precious  metals.  The  floors,  walls,  and 
ceiling  were  of  burnished  silver  ;  the  doors,  the  win 
dow  frames,  the  cornices,  the  balustrades,  and  the 
steps  of  the  staircase,  of  pure  gold ;  and  silver,  with 
gold  bottoms,  were  the  chairs,  and  gold,  standing  on 
silver  legs,  the  high  chests  of  drawers,  and  silver  the 


436  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

be  ilsteads,  with  blankets  of  woven  gold,  and  sheets  of 
silver  tissue.  The  house  had  evidently  been  trans 
muted  by  a  single  touch ;  for  it  retained  all  the  marks 
that  Peter  remembered,  but  in  gold  or  silver  instead 
of  wood  ;  and  the  initials  of  his  name,  which,  when  a 
boy,  he  had  cut  in  the  wooden  door-post,  remained  as 
deep  in  the  pillar  of  gold.  A  happy  man  would  have 
been  Peter  Goldthwaite  except  for  a  certain  ocular 
deception,  which,  whenever  he  glanced  backwards, 
caused  the  house  to  darken  from  its  glittering  mag 
nificence  into  the  sordid  gloom  of  yesterday. 

Up,  betimes,  rose  Peter,  seized  an  axe,  hammer, 
and  saw,  which  he  had  placed  by  his  bedside,  and 
hied  him  to  the  garret.  It  was  but  scantily  lighted 
up,  as  yet,  by  the  frosty  fragments  of  a  sunbeam, 
which  began  to  glimmer  through  the  almost  opaque 
bull's-eyes  of  the  window.  A  moralizer  might  find 
abundant  themes  for  his  speculative  and  impracticable 
wisdom  in  a  garret.  There  is  the  limbo  of  departed 
fashions,  aged  trifles  of  a  day,  and  whatever  was  valu 
able  only  to  one  generation  of  men,  and  which  passed 
to  the  garret  when  that  generation  passed  to  the  grave, 
not  for  safe  keeping,  but  to  be  out  of  the  way.  Peter 
saw  piles  of  yellow  and  musty  account-books,  in  parch 
ment  covers,  wherein  creditors,  long  dead  and  buried, 
had  written  the  names  of  dead  and  buried  debtors  in 
ink  now  so  faded  that  their  moss-grown  tombstones 
were  more  legible.  He  found  old  moth-eaten  gar 
ments  all  in  rags  and  tatters,  or  Peter  would  have  put 
them  on.  Here  was  a  naked  and  rusty  sword,  not  a 
sword  of  service,  but  a  gentleman's  small  French 
rapier,  which  had  never  left  its  scabbard  till  it  lost  it 
Here  were  canes  of  twenty  different  sorts,  but  no 
gold-headed  ones,  and  shoe-buckles  of  various  pattern 


• 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.     437 

and  material,  but  not  silver  nor  set  with  precious 
stones.  Here  was  a  large  box  full  of  shoes,  with  high 
heels  and  peaked  toes.  Here,  on  a  shelf,  were  a  mul 
titude  of  phials,  half -filled  with  old  apothecaries'  stuff, 
which,  when  the  other  half  had  done  its  business  on 
Peter's  ancestors,  had  been  brought  hither  from  the 
death  chamber.  Here  —  not  to  give  a  longer  inven 
tory  of  articles  that  will  never  be  put  up  at  auction  — 
was  the  fragment  of  a  full-length  looking-glass,  which, 
by  the  dust  and  dimness  of  its  surface,  made  the  pict 
ure  of  these  old  things  look  older  than  the  reality. 
When  Peter,  not  knowing  that  there  was  a  mirror 
there,  caught  the  faint  traces  of  his  own  figure,  he 
partly  imagined  that  the  former  Peter  Goldthwaite 
had  come  back,  either  to  assist  or  impede  his  search 
for  the  hidden  wealth.  And  at  that  moment  a  strange 
notion  glimmered  through  his  brain  that  he  was  the 
identical  Peter  who  had  concealed  the  gold,  and  ought 
to  know  whereabout  it  lay.  This,  however,  he  had 
unacountably  forgotten. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Peter !  "  cried  Tabitha,  on  the  garret 
stairs.  "  Have  you  torn  the  house  down  enough  to 
heat  the  teakettle  ?  " 

"Not  yet,  old  Tabby,"  answered  Peter ;  "  but  that  '3 
soon  done  —  as  you  shall  see." 

With  the  word  in  his  mouth,  he  uplifted  the  axe, 
and  laid  about  him  so  vigorously  that  the  dust  flew, 
the  boards  crashed,  and,  in  a  twinkling,  the  old  woman 
had  an  apron  full  of  broken  rubbish. 

"  We  shall  get  our  winter's  wood  cheap,"  quoth 
Tabitha. 

The  good  work  being  thus  commenced,  Peter  beat 
down  all  before  him,  smiting  and  hewing  at  the  joists 
and  timbers,  unclinching  spike-nails,  ripping  and  tear- 


438  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ing  away  boards,  with  a  tremendous  racket,  from 
morning  till  night.  He  took  care,  however,  to  leave 
the  outside  shell  of  the  house  untouched,  so  that  the 
neighbors  might  not  suspect  what  was  going  on. 

Never,  in  any  of  his  vagaries,  though  each  had 
made  him  happy  while  it  lasted,  had  Peter  been  hap 
pier  than  now.  Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was  some 
thing  in  Peter  Goldthwaite's  turn  of  mind,  which 
brought  him  an  inward  recompense  for  all  the  exter 
nal  evil  that  it  caused.  If  he  were  poor,  ill-clad,  even 
hungry,  and  exposed,  as  it  were,  to  be  utterly  annihi 
lated  by  a  precipice  of  impending  ruin,  yet  only  his 
body  remained  in  these  miserable  circumstances,  while 
his  aspiring  soul  enjoyed  the  sunshine  of  a  bright  fu 
turity.  It  was  his  nature  to  be  always  young,  and 
the  tendency  of  his  mode  of  life  to  keep  him  so.  Gray 
hairs  were  nothing,  no,  nor  wrinkles,  nor  infirmity ; 
he  might  look  old,  indeed,  and  be  somewhat  disagree 
ably  connected  with  a  gaunt  old  figure,  much  the 
worse  for  wear;  but  the  true,4he  essential  Peter  was 
a  young  man  of  high  hopes,  just  entering  on  the  world. 
At  the  kindling  of  each  new  fire,  his  burnt-out  youth 
rose  afresh  from  the  old  embers  and  ashes.  It  rose 
exulting  now.  Having  lived  thus  long  —  not  too  long, 
but  just  to  the  right  age  —  a  susceptible  bachelor,  with 
warm  and  tender  dreams,  he  resolved,  so  soon  as  the 
hidden  gold  should  flash  to  light,  to  go  a-wooing,  and 
win  the  love  of  the  fairest  maid  in  town.  What  heart 
could  resist  him  ?  Happy  Peter  Goldthwaite  ! 

Every  evening  —  as  Peter  had  long  absented  him 
self  from  his  former  lounging-places,  at  insurance  offi 
ces,  news-rooms,  and  bookstores,  and  as  the  honor  of 
his  company  was  seldom  requested  in  private  circles 
. —  he  and  Tabitha  used  to  sit  down  sociably  by  the 


• 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.     439 

kitehen  hearth.  This  was  always  heaped  plentifully 
with  the  rubbish  of  his  day's  labor.  As  the  founda 
tion  of  the  fire,  there  would  be  a  goodly-sized  backlog 
of  red  oak,  which,  after  being  sheltered  from  rain  or 
damp  above  a  century,  still  hissed  with  the  heat,  and 
distilled  streams  of  water  from  each  end,  as  if  the  tree 
had  been  cut  down  within  a  week  or  two.  Next  these 
were  large  sticks,  sound,  black,  and  heavy,  which  had 
lost  the  principle  of  decay,  and  were  indestructible  ex 
cept  by  fire,  wherein  they  glowed  like  red-hot  bars  of 
iron.  On  this  solid  basis,  Tabitha  would  rear  a  lighter 
structure,  composed  of  the  splinters  of  door  panels, 
ornamented  mouldings,  and  such  quick  combustibles, 
which  caught  like  straw,  and  threw  a  brilliant  blaze 
high  up  the  spacious  flue,  making  its  sooty  sides  visi 
ble  almost  to  the  chimney-top.  Meantime,  the  gleam 
of  the  old  kitchen  would  be  chased  out  of  the  cob 
webbed  corners,  and  away  from  the  dusky  cross-beams 
overhead,  and  driven  nobody  could  tell  whither,  while 
Peter  smiled  like  a  gladsome  man,  and  Tabitha  seemed 
a  picture  of  comfortable  age.  All  this,  of  course,  was 
but  an  emblem  of  the  bright  fortune  which  the  de 
struction  of  the  house  would  shed  upon  its  occupants. 

While  the  dry  pine  was  flaming  and  crackling,  like 
an  irregular  discharge  of  fairy  musketry,  Peter  sat 
looking  and  listening,  in  a  pleasant  state  of  excite 
ment.  But,  when  the  brief  blaze  and  uproar  were  suc 
ceeded  by  the  dark-red  glow,  the  substantial  heat,  and 
the  deep  singing  sound,  which  were  to  last  through 
out  the  evening,  his  humor  became  talkative.  One 
night,  the  hundredth  time,  he  teased  Tabitha  to  tell 
him  something  new  about  his  great-granduncle. 

"  You  have  been  sitting  in  that  chimney-corner 
fifty-five  years,  old  Tabby,  and  must  have  heard  many 


440  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

a  tradition  about  him,"  said  Peter.  "  Did  not  you 
tell  me  that,  when  you  first  came  to  the  house,  there 
was  an  old  woman  sitting  where  you  sit  now,  who  had 
been  housekeeper  to  the  famous  Peter  Goldthwaite  ?  " 

"So  there  was,  Mr.  Peter,"  answered  Tabitha,  " and 
she  was  near  about  a  hundred  years  old.  She  used  to 
say  that  she  and  old  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  often  spent 
a  sociable  evening  by  the  kitchen  fire  —  pretty  much 
as  you  and  I  are  doing  now,  Mr.  Peter." 

"  The  old  fellow  must  have  resembled  me  in  more 
points  than  one,"  said  Peter,  complacently,  "  or  he 
never  would  have  grown  so  rich.  But,  methinks,  he 
might  have  invested  the  money  better  than  he  did  — 
no  interest !  —  nothing  but  good  security !  —  and  the 
house  to  be  torn  down  to  come  at  it !  What  made 
him  hide  it  so  snug,  Tabby  ?  " 

"Because  he  could  not  spend  it,"  said  Tabitha; 
"for  as  often  as  he  went  to  unlock  the  chest,  the 
Old  Scratch  came  behind  and  caught  his  arm.  The 
money,  they  say,  was  paid  Peter  out  of  his  purse ;  and 
he  wanted  Peter  to  give  him  a  deed  of  this  house  and 
land,  which  Peter  swore  he  would  not  do." 

"  Just  as  I  swore  to  John  Brown,  my  old  partner," 
remarked  Peter.  "  But  tliis  is  all  nonsense,  Tabby  ! 
I  don't  believe  the  story." 

"  Well,  it  may  not  be  just  the  truth,"  said  Tabitha ; 
"for  some  folks  say  that  Peter  did  make  over  the 
house  to  the  Old  Scratch,  and  that's  the  reason  it 
has  always  been  so  unlucky  to  them  that  lived  in  it. 
And  as  soon  as  Peter  had  given  him  the  deed,  the 
chest  flew  open,  and  Peter  caught  up  a  handful  of  the 
gold.  But,  lo  and  behold  !  - —  there  was  nothing  in  his 
fist  but  a  parcel  of  old  rags." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  silly  old  Tabby  !  "    cried 


• 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE' S    TREASURE.    441 

Peter  in  great  wrath.  "  They  were  as  good  golden 
guineas  as  ever  bore  the  effigies  of  the  king  of  Eng 
land.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  recollect  the  whole  cir 
cumstance,  and  how  I,  or  old  Peter,  or  whoever  it  was, 
thrust  in  my  hand,  or  his  hand,  and  drew  it  out  all  of 
a  blaze  with  gold.  Old  rags,  indeed !  " 

But  it  was  not  an  old  woman's  legend  that  would 
discourage  Peter  Goldthwaite.  All  night  long  he 
slept  among  pleasant  dreams,  and  awoke  at  daylight 
with  a  joyous  throb  of  the  heart,  which  few  are  for 
tunate  enough  to  feel  beyond  their  boyhood.  Day 
after  day  he  labored  hard  without  wasting  a  moment, 
except  at  meal  times,  when  Tabitha  summoned  him  to 
the  pork  and  cabbage,  or  such  other  sustenance  as  she 
had  picked  up,  or  Providence  had  sent  them.  Being  a 
truly  pious  man,  Peter  never  failed  to  ask  a  blessing  ; 
if  the  food  were  none  of  the  best,  then  so  much  the 
more  earnestly,  as  it  was  more  needed ;  —  nor  to  re 
turn  thanks,  if  the  dinner  had  been  scanty,  yet  for  the 
good  appetite,  which  was  better  than  a  sick  stomach 
at  a  feast.  Then  did  he  hurry  back  to  his  toil,  and,  in 
a  moment,  was  lost  to  sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust  from 
the  old  walls,  though  sufficiently  perceptible  to  the  ear 
by  the  clatter  which  he  raised  in  the  midst  of  it.  How 
enviable  is  the  consciousness  of  being  usefully  em 
ployed!  Nothing  troubled  Peter;  or  nothing  but 
those  phantoms  of  the  mind  which  seem  like  vague 
recollections,  yet  have  also  the  aspect  of  presentiments. 
He  often  paused,  with  his  axe  uplifted  in  the  air,  and 
said  to  himself,  —  "  Peter  Goldthwaite,  did  you  never 
strike  this  blow  before  ?  "  —  or,  "  Peter,  what  need  of 
tearing  the  whole  house  down  ?  Think  a  little  while, 
and  you  will  remember  where  the  gold  is  hidden." 
Days  and  weeks  passed  on,  however,  without  any  re- 


442  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

markable  discovery.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  lean,  gray 
rat  peeped  forth  at  the  lean,  gray  man,  wondering 
what  devil  had  got  into  the  old  house,  which  had  al 
ways  been  so  peaceable  till  now.  And,  occasionally, 
Peter  sympathized  with  the  sorrows  of  a  female  mouse, 
who  had  brought  five  or  six  pretty,  little,  soft  and 
delicate  young  ones  into  the  world  just  in  time  to 
see  them  crushed  by  its  ruin.  But,  as  yet,  no  treas 
ure  ! 

By  this  time,  Peter,  being  as  determined  as  Fate 
and  as  diligent  as  Time,  had  made  an  end  with  the 
uppermost  regions,  and  got  down  to  the  second  story, 
where  he  was  busy  in  one  of  the  front  chambers.  It 
had  formerly  been  the  state  bed-chamber,  and  was 
honored  by  tradition  as  the  sleeping  apartment  of 
Governor  Dudley,  and  many  other  eminent  guests. 
The  furniture  was  gone.  There  were  remnants  of 
faded  and  tattered  paper-hangings,  but  larger  spaces 
of  bare  wall  ornamented  with  charcoal  sketches,  chiefly 
of  people's  heads  in  profile.  These  being  specimens  of 
Peter's  youthful  genius,  it  went  more  to  his  heart  to 
obliterate  them  than  if  they  had  been  pictures  on  a 
church  wall  by  Michael  Angelo.  One  sketch,  how 
ever,  and  that  the  best  one,  affected  him  differently. 
It  represented  a  ragged  man,  partly  supporting  him 
self  011  a  spade,  and  bending  his  lean  body  over  a  hole 
in  the  earth,  with  one  hand  extended  to  grasp  some 
thing  that  he  had  found.  But  close  behind  him,  with 
a  fiendish  laugh  on  his  features,  appeared  a  figure  with 
horns,  a  tufted  tail,  and  a  cloven  hoof. 

"  Avaunt,  Satan  !  "  cried  Peter.  "  The  man  shall 
have  his  gold !  " 

Uplifting  his  axe,  he  hit  the  horned  gentleman  such 
a  blow  on  the  head  as  not  only  demolished  him,  but 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.    443 

the  treasure-seeker  also,  and  caused  the  whole  scene  to 
vanish  like  magic.  Moreover,  his  axe  broke  quite 
through  the  plaster  and  laths,  and  discovered  a  cavity. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Mr.  Peter,  are  you  quarrelling  with 
the  Old  Scratch  ?  "  said  Tabitha,  who  was  seeking 
some  fuel  to  put  under  the  pot. 

Without  answering  the  old  woman,  Peter  broke 
down  a  further  space  of  the  wall,  and  laid  open  a 
small  closet  or  cupboard,  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace, 
about  breast  high  from  the  ground.  It  contained 
nothing  but  a  brass  lamp,  covered  with  verdigris,  and 
a. dusty  piece  of  parchment.  While  Peter  inspected 
the  latter,  Tabitha  seized  the  lamp,  and  began  to  rub 
it  with  her  apron. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  nibbing  it,  Tabitha,"  said  Peter. 
"  It  is  not  Aladdin's  lamp,  though  I  take  it  to  be  a 
token  of  as  much  luck.  Look  here,  Tabby  I " 

Tabitha  took  the  parchment  and  held  it  close  to  her 
nose,  which  was  saddled  with  a  pair  of  iron-bound  spec 
tacles.  But  no  sooner  had  she  began  to  puzzle  over  it 
than  she  burst  into  a  chuckling  laugh,  holding  both 
her  hands  against  her  sides. 

"  You  can't  make  a  fool  of  the  old  woman  !  "  cried 
she.  "  This  is  your  own  handwriting,  Mr.  Peter !  the 
same  as  in  the  letter  you  sent  me  from  Mexico." 

"There  is  certainly  a  considerable  resemblance," 
said  Peter,  again  examining  the  parchment.  "  But 
you  know  yourself,  Tabby,  that  this  closet  must  have 
been  plastered  up  before  you  came  to  the  house,  or  I 
came  into  the  world.  Xo,  this  is  old  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite's  waiting ;  these  columns  of  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence  are  his  figures,  denoting  the  amount  of  the 
treasure  ;  and  this  at  the  bottom  is,  doubtless,  a  refer 
ence  to  the  place  of  concealment.  But  the  ink  has 


444  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

either  faded  or  peeled  off,  so  that  it  is  absolutely  illeg 
ible.  What  a  pity !  " 

"  Well,  this  lamp  is  as  good  as  new.  That 's  some 
comfort,"  said  Tabitha. 

"  A  lamp  !  "  thought  Peter.  "  That  indicates  light 
on  my  researches." 

For  the  present,  Peter  felt  more  inclined  to  ponder 
on  this  discovery  than  to  resume  his  labors.  After 
Tabitha  had  gone  down  stairs,  he  stood  poring  over 
the  parchment,  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  which 
was  so  obscured  with  dust  that  the  sun  could  barely 
throw  an  uncertain  shadow  of  the  casement  across  the 
floor.  Peter  forced  it  open,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
great  street  of  the  town,  while  the  sun  looked  in  at  his 
old  house.  The  air,  though  mild,  and  even  warm, 
thrilled  Peter  as  with  a  dash  of  water. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  January  thaw.  The  snow 
lay  deep  upon  the  house-tops,  but  was  rapidly  dissolv 
ing  into  millions  of  water-drops,  which  sparkled  down 
wards  through  the  sunshine,  with  the  noise  of  a  sum 
mer  shower  beneath  the  eaves.  Along  the  street,  the 
trodden  snow  was  as  hard  and  solid  as  a  pavement  of 
white  marble,  and  had  not  yet  grown  moist  in  the 
spring-like  temperature.  But  when  Peter  thrust  forth 
his  head,  he  saw  that  the  inhabitants,  if  not  the  town, 
were  already  thawed  out  by  this  warm  day,  after  two 
or  three  weeks  of  winter  weather.  It  gladdened  him 
—  a  gladness  with  a  sigh  breathing  through  it  —  to 
see  the  stream  of  ladies,  gliding  along  the  slippery 
sidewalks,  with  their  red  cheeks  set  off  by  quilted 
hoods,  boas,  and  sable  capes,  like  roses  amidst  a  new 
kind  of  foliage.  The  sleigh-bells  jingled  to  and  fro 
continually :  sometimes  announcing  the  arrival  of  a 
sleigh  from  Vermont,  laden  with  the  frozen  bodies  oi 


PETER   GOLDTH  WAITERS   TREASURE.    445 

porkers,  or  sheep,  and  perhaps  a  deer  or  two  ;  some 
times  of  a  regular  market-man,  with  chickens,  geese, 
and  turkeys,  comprising  the  whole  colony  of  a  barn 
yard ;  and  sometimes  of  a  fanner  and  his  dame,  who 
had  come  to  town  partly  for  the  ride,  partly  to  go 
a-shopping,  and  partly  for  the  sale  of  some  eggs  and 
butter.  This  couple  rode  in  an  old-fashioned  square 
sleigh,  which  had  served  them  twenty'  winters,  and 
stood  twenty  summers  in  the  sun  beside  their  door. 
Now,  a  gentleman  and  lady  skimmed  the  snow  in  an 
elegant  car,  shaped  somewhat  like  a  cockle-shell. 
Now,  a  stage-sleigh,  with  its  cloth  curtains  thrust  aside 
to  admit  the  sun,  dashed  rapidly  down  the  street, 
whirling  in  and  out  among  the  vehicles  that  obstructed 
its  passage.  Now  came,  round  a  corner,  the  similitude 
of  Noah's  ark  on  runners,  being  an  immense  open 
sleigh  with  seats  for  fifty  people,  and  drawn  by  a 
dozen  horses.  This  spacious  receptacle  was  populous 
with  merry  maids  and  merry  bachelors,  merry  girls 
and  boys,  and  merry  old  folks,  all  alive  with  fun,  and 
grinning  to  the  full  width  of  their  mouths.  They  kept 
up  a  buzz  of  babbling  voices  and  low  laughter,  and 
sometimes  burst  into  a  deep,  joyous  shout,  which  the 
spectators  answered  with  three  cheers,  while  a  gang 
of  roguish  boys  let  drive  their  snowballs  right  among 
the  pleasure  party.  The  sleigh  passed  on,  and,  when 
concealed  by  a  bend  of  the  street,  was  still  audible  by 
a  distant  cry  of  merriment. 

Never  had  Peter  beheld  a  livelier  scene  than  was 
constituted  by  all  these  accessories  :  the  bright  sun, 
the  flashing  water-drops,  the  gleaming  snow,  the  cheer 
ful  multitude,  the  variety  of  rapid  vehicles,  and  the 
jingle  jangle  of  merry  bells  which  made  the  heart 
dance,  to  their  music.  Nothing  dismal  was  to  be  seen, 


44G  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

except  that  peaked  piece  of  antiquity,  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite's  house,  which  might  well  look  sad  externally, 
since  such  a  terrible  consumption  was  preying  on  its 
insides.  And  Peter's  gaunt  figure,  half  visible  in  the 
projecting  second  story,  was  worthy  of  his  house. 

"  Peter !  How  goes  it,  friend  Peter  ?  "  cried  a  voice 
across  the  street,  as  Peter  was  drawing  in  his  head. 
"  Look  out  here,  Peter  !  " 

Peter  looked,  and  saw  his  old  partner,  Mr.  John 
Brown,  on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  portly  and  comforta 
ble,  with  his  furred  cloak  thrown  open,  disclosing  a 
handsome  surtout  beneath.  His  voice  had  directed 
the  attention  of  the  whole  town  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
window,  and  to  the  dusty  scarecrow  which  appeared 
at  it. 

"  I  say,  Peter,"  cried  Mr.  Brown  again,  "  what  the 
devil  are  you  about  there,  that  I  hear  such  a  racket 
whenever  I  pass  by  ?  You  are  repairing  the  old 
house,  I  suppose,  —  making  a  new  one  of  it,  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Too  late  for  that,  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brown,"  re 
plied  Peter.  "  If  I  make  it  new,  it  will  be  new  in 
side  and  out,  from  the  cellar  upwards." 

"  Had  not  you  better  let  me  take  the  job  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Brown,  significantly. 

"  Not  yet !  "  answered  Peter,  hastily  shutting  the 
window ;  for,  ever  since  he  had  been  in  search  of  the 
treasure,  he  hated  to  have  people  stare  at  him. 

As  he  drew  back,  ashamed  of  his  outward  poverty, 
yet  proud  of  the  secret  wealth  within  his  grasp,  a 
haughty  smile  shone  out  on  Peter's  visage,  with  pre 
cisely  the  effect  of  the  dim  sunbeams  in  the  squalid 
chamber.  He  endeavored  to  assume  such  a  mien  as 
his  ancestor  had  probably  worn,  when  he  gloried  in 
the  building  of  a  strong  house  for  a  home  to  many 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.    447 

generations  of  his  posterity.  But  the  chamber  was 
very  dark  to  his  snow-dazzled  eyes,  and  very  dismal 
too,  in  contrast  with  the  living  scene  that  he  had  just 
looked  upon.  His  brief  glimpse  into  the  street  had 
given  him  a  forcible  impression  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  world  kept  itself  cheerful  and  prosperous, 
by  social  pleasures  and  an  intercourse  of  business, 
while  he,  in  seclusion,  was  pursuing  an  object  that 
might  possibly  be  a  phantasm,  by  a  method  which 
most  people  would  call  madness.  It  is  one  great  ad 
vantage  of  a  gregarious  mode  of  life  that  each  person 
rectifies  his  mind  by  other  minds,  and  squares  his  con 
duct  to  that  of  his  neighbors,  so  as  seldom  to  be  lost 
in  eccentricity.  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  exposed  him 
self  to  this  influence  by  merely  looking  out  of  the 
window.  For  a  while,  he  doubted  whether  there  were 
any  hidden  chest  of  gold,  and,  in  that  case,  whether 
he  was  so  exceedingly  wise  to  tear  the  house  down, 
only  to  be  convinced  of  its  non-existence. 

But  this  was.  momentary.  Peter,  the  Destroyer, 
resumed  the  task  which  fate  had  assigned  him,  nor 
faltered  again  till  it  was  accomplished.  In  the  course 
of  his  search,  he  met  with  many  things  that  are  usually 
found  in  the  ruins  of  an  old  house,  and  also  with  some 
that  are  not.  What  seemed  most  to  the  purpose  was 
a  rusty  key,  which  had  been  thrust  into  a  chink  of  the 
wall,  with  a  wooden  label  appended  to  the  handle, 
bearing  the  initials,  P.  G.  Another  singular  discovery 
was  that  of  a  bottle  of  wine,  walled  up  in  an  old  oven. 
A  tradition  ran  in  the  family,  that  Peter's  grand 
father,  a  jovial  officer  in  the  old  French  War,  had  set 
aside  many  dozens  of  the  precious  liquor  for  the  ben 
efit  of  topers  then  unborn.  Peter  needed  no  cordial  to 
sustain  his  hopes,  and  therefore  kept  the  wine  to  glad- 


448  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

den  his  success.  Many  halfpence  did  he  pick  up,  that 
had  been  lost  through  the  cracks  of  the  floor,  and 
some  few  Spanish  coins,  and  the  half  of  a  broken  six 
pence,  which  had  doubtless  been  a  love  token.  There 
was  likewise  a  silver  coronation  medal  of  George  the 
Third.  But  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  strong  box  fled 
from  one  dark  corner  to  another,  or  otherwise  eluded 
the  second  Peter's  clutches,  till,  should  he  seek  much 
farther,  he  must  burrow  into  the  earth. 

We  will  not  follow  him  in  his  triumphant  progress, 
step  by  step.  Suffice  it  that  Peter  worked  like  a 
steam-engine,  and  finished,  in  that  one  winter,  the  job 
which  all  the  former  inhabitants  of  the  house,  with 
time  and  the  elements  to  aid  them,  had  only  half  done 
in  a  century.  Except  the  kitchen,  every  room  and 
chamber  was  now  gutted.  The  house  was  nothing  but 
a  shell,  — the  apparition  of  a  house,  —  as  unreal  as  the 
painted  edifices  of  a  theatre.  It  was  like  the  perfect 
rind  of  a  great  cheese,  in  which  a  mouse  had  dwelt 
and  nibbled  till  it  was  a  cheese  110  more.  And  Peter 
was  the  mouse. 

What  Peter  had  torn  down,  Tabitha  had  burned 
up ;  for  she  wisely  considered  that,  without  a  house, 
they  should  need  no  wood  to  warm  it ;  and  therefore 
economy  was  nonsense.  Thus  the  whole  house  might 
be  said  to  have  dissolved  in  smoke,  and  flown  up 
among  the  clouds,  through  the  great  black  flue  of  the 
kitchen  chimney.  It  was  an  admirable  parallel  to 
the  feat  of  the  man  who  jumped  down  his  own  throat. 

On  the  night  between  the  last  day  of  winter  and 
the  first  of  spring,  every  chink  and  cranny  had  been 
ransacked,  except  within  the  precincts  of  the  kitchen. 
This  fated  evening  was  an  ugly  one.  A  snow-stoirn 
had  set  in  some  hours  before,  and  was  still  driven 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.    449 

and  tossed  about  the  atmosphere  by  a  real  hurricane, 
which  fought  against  the  house  as  if  the  prince  of  the 
air,  in  person,  were  putting  the  final  stroke  to  Peter's 
labors.  The  framework  being  so  much  weakened, 
and  the  inward  props  removed,  it  would  have  been  no 
marvel  if,  in  some  stronger  wrestle  of  the  blast,  the 
rotten  walls  of  the  edifice,  and  all  the  peaked  roofs, 
had  come  crushing  down  upon  the  owner's  head.  He, 
however,  was  careless  of  the  peril,  but  as  wild  and  rest 
less  as  the  night  itself,  or  as  the  flame  that  quivered 
up  the  chimney  at  each  roar  of  the  tempestuous  wind. 

"  The  wine,  Tabitha ! "  he  cried.  "  My  grandfather's 
rich  old  wine  !  We  will  drink  it  now !  " 

Tabitha  arose  from  her  smoke-blackened  bench  in 
the  chimney-corner,  and  placed  the  bottle  before  Pe 
ter,  close  beside  the  old  brass  lamp,  which  had  like 
wise  been  the  prize  of  his  researches.  Peter  held  it 
before  his  eyes,  and,  looking  through  the  liquid  me 
dium,  beheld  the  kitchen  illuminated  with  a  golden 
glory,  which  also  enveloped  Tabitha  and  gilded  her 
silver  hair,  and  converted  her  mean  garments  into 
robes  of  queenly  splendor.  It  reminded  him  of  his 
golden  dream. 

"Mr.  Peter,"  remarked  Tabitha,  "must  the  wine 
be  drunk  before  the  money  is  found  ?  " 

"  The  money  is  found !  "  exclaimed  Peter,  with  a 
sort  of  fierceness.  "  The  chest  is  within  my  reach.  I 
will  not  sleep,  till  I  have  turned  this  key  in  the  rusty 
lock.  But,  first  of  all,  let  us  drink !  " 

There  being  no  corkscrew  in  the  house,  he  smote 
the  neck  of  the  bottle  with  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
rusty  key,  and  decapitated  the  sealed  cork  at  a  single 
blow.  He  then  filled  two  little  china  teacups,  which 
Tabitha  had  brought  from  the  cupboard.  So  clear 

VOL.  i.  29 


450  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  brilliant  was  this  aged  wine  that  it  shone  within 
the  cups,  and  rendered  the  sprig  of  scarlet  flowers,  at 
the  bottom  of  each,  more  distinctly  visible  than  when 
there  had  been  no  wine  there.  Its  rich  and  delicate 
perfume  wasted  itself  round  the  kitchen. 

"  Drink,  Tabitha !  "  cried  Peter.  "  Blessings  on  the 
honest  old  fellow  who  set  aside  this  good  liquor  for 
you  and  me!  And  here's  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
memory ! " 

"  And  good  cause  have  we  to  remember  him,"  quoth 
Tabitha,  as  she  drank. 

How  many  years,  and  through  what  changes  of 
fortune  and  various  calamity,  had  that  bottle  hoarded 
up  its  effervescent  joy,  to  be  quaffed  at  last  by  two 
such  boon  companions !  A  portion  of  the  happiness 
of  the  former  age  had  been  kept  for  them,  and  was 
now  set  free,  in  a  crowd  of  rejoicing  visions,  to  sport 
amid  the  storm  and  desolation  of  the  present  time. 
Until  they  have  finished  the  bottle,  we  must  turn  our 
eyes  elsewhere. 

It  so  chanced  that,  on  this  stormy  night,  Mr.  John 
Brown  found  himself  ill  at  ease  in  his  wire-cushioned 
arm-chair,  by  the  glowing  grate  of  anthracite  which 
heated  his  handsome  parlor.  He  was  naturally  a  good 
sort  of  a  man,  and  kind  and  pitiful  whenever  the  mis 
fortunes  of  others  happened  to  reach  his  heart  through 
the  padded  vest  of  his  own  prosperity.  This  evening 
he  had  thought  much  about  his  old  partner,  Peter 
Goldthwaite,  his  strange  vagaries,  and  continual  ill 
luck,  the  poverty  of  his  dwelling,  at  Mr.  Brown's  last 
visit,  and  Peter's  crazed  and  haggard  aspect  when  he 
had  talked  with  him  at  the  window. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  thought  Mr.  John  Brown.  "  Poor, 
crackbrained  Peter  Goldthwaite !  For  old  acquaint 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S    TREASURE.    451 

ance'  sake,  I  ought  to  have  taken  care  that  he  was 
comfortable  this  rough  winter." 

These  feelings  grew  so  powerful  that,  in  spite  of 
the  inclement  weather,  he  resolved  to  visit  Peter 
Goldthwaite  immediately.  The  strength  of  the  im 
pulse  was  really  singular.  Every  shriek  of  the  blast 
seemed  a  summons,  or  would  have  seemed  so,  had  Mr. 
Brown  been  accustomed  to  hear  the  echoes  of  his  own 
fancy  in  the  wind.  Much  amazed  at  such  active  be 
nevolence,  he  huddled  himself  in  his  cloak,  muffled  his 
throat  and  ears  in  comforters  and  handkerchiefs,  and, 
thus  fortified,  bade  defiance  to  the  tempest.  But  the 
powers  of  the  air  had  rather  the  best  of  the  battle. 
Mr.  Brown  was  just  weathering  the  corner,  by  Peter 
Goldthwaite's  house,  when  the  hurricane  caught  him 
off  his  feet,  tossed  him  face  downward  into  a  snow 
bank,  and  proceeded  to  bury  his  protuberant  part  be 
neath  fresh  drifts.  There  seemed  little  hope  of  his 
reappearance  earlier  than  the  next  thaw.  At  the 
same  moment  his  hat  was  snatched  away,  and  whirled 
aloft  into  some  far  distant  region,  whence  no  tidings 
have  as  yet  returned. 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Brown  contrived  to  burrow  a  pas 
sage  through  the  snow-drift,  and,  with  his  bare  head 
bent  against  the  storm,  floundered  onward  to  Peter's 
door.  There  was  such  a  creaking  and  groaning  and 
rattling,  and  such  an  ominous  shaking  throughout  the 
crazy  edifice,  that  the  loudest  rap  would  have  been 
inaudible  to  those  within.  He  therefore  entered,  with 
out  ceremony,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  kitchen. 

His  intrusion,  even  there,  was  unnoticed.  Peter  and 
Tabitha  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  door,  stooping 
over  a  large  chest,  which,  apparently,  they  had  just 
dragged  from  a  cavity,  or  concealed  closet,  on  the  left 


452  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

side  of  the  chimney.  By  the  lamp  in  the  old  woman's 
hand,  Mr.  Brown  saw  that  the  chest  was  barred  and 
clamped  with  iron,  strengthened  with  iron  plates  and 
studded  with  iron  nails,  so  as  to  be  a  fit  receptacle  in 
which  the  wealth  of  one  century  might  be  hoarded  up 
for  the  wants  of  another.  Peter  Goldthwaite  was  in 
serting  a  key  into  the  lock. 

"  O  Tabitha !  "  cried  he,  with  tremulous  rapture, 
"how  shall  I  endure  the  effulgence?  The  gold!  — 
the  bright,  bright  gold !  Methinks  I  can  remember 
my  last  glance  at  it,  just  as  the  iron-plated  lid  fell 
down.  And  ever  since,  being  seventy  years,  it  has 
been  blazing  in  secret,  and  gathering  its  splendor 
against  this  glorious  moment !  It  will  flash  upon  us 
like  the  noonday  sun  !  " 

"  Then  shade  your  eyes,  Mr.  Peter !  "  said  Tabitha, 
with  somewhat  less  patience  than  usual.  "  But,  for 
mercy's  sake,  do  turn  the  key !  " 

And,  with  a  strong  effort  of  both  hands,  Peter  did 
force  the  rusty  key  through  the  intricacies  of  the  rusty 
lock.  Mr.  Brown,  in  the  mean  time,  had  drawn  near, 
and  thrust  his  eager  visage  between  those  of  the  other 
two,  at  the  instant  that  Peter  threw  up  the  lid.  No 
sudden  blaze  illuminated  the  kitchen. 

"  What 's  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Tabitha,  adjusting  her 
spectacles,  and  holding  the  lamp  over  the  open  chest. 
"  Old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  hoard  of  old  rags." 

"  Pretty  much  so,  Tabby,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  lifting 
a  handful  of  the  treasure. 

Oh,  what  a  ghost  of  dead  and  buried  wealth  had 
Peter  Goldthwaite  raised,  to  scare  himself  out  of  his 
scanty  wits  withal !  Here  was  the  semblance  of  an 
incalculable  sum,  enough  to  purchase  the  whole  town, 
and  build  every  street  anew,  but  which,  vast  as  it  was, 


• 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE' S   TREASURE.    453 

no  sane  man  would  have  given  a  solid  sixpence  for. 
What  then,  in  sober  earnest,  were  the  delusive  treas 
ures  of  the  chest?  "Why,  here  were  old  provincial 
bills  of  credit,  and  treasury  notes,  and  bills  of  land, 
banks,  and  all  other  bubbles  of  the  sort,  from  the  first 
issue,  above  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  down  nearly 
to  the  Revolution.  Bills  of  a  thousand  pounds  were 
intermixed  with  parchment  pennies,  and  worth  no  more 
than  they. 

"And  this,  then,  is  old  Peter  Goldth waiters  treas 
ure!"  said  John  Brown.  "Your  namesake,  Peter, 
was  something  like  yourself  ;  and,  when  the  provincial 
currency  had  depreciated  fifty  or  seventy-five  per  cent., 
he  bought  it  up  in  expectation  of  a  rise.  I  have  heard 
my  grandfather  say  that  old  Peter  gave  his  father  a 
mortgage  of  this  very  house  and  land,  to  raise  cash  for 
his  silly  project.  But  the  currency  kept  sinking,  till 
nobody  would  take  it  as  a  gift :  and  there  was  old 
Peter  Goldthwaite,  like  Peter  the  second,  with  thou 
sands  in  his  strong  box  and  hardly  a  coat  to  his  back. 
He  went  mad  upon  the  strength  of  it.  But,  never 
mind,  Peter !  It  is  just  the  sort  of  capital  for  build 
ing  castles  in  the  air." 

"  The  house  will  be  down  about  our  ears  ! "  cried 
Tabitha,  as  the  wind  shook  it  with  increasing  violence. 

"  Let  it  fall !  "  said  Peter,  folding  his  arms,  as  he 
seated  himself  upon  the  chest. 

"  Xo,  no,  my  old  friend  Peter,"  said  John  Brown. 
"  I  have  house  room  for  you  and  Tabby,  and  a  safe 
vault  for  the  chest  of  treasure.  To-morrow  we  will 
try  to  come  to  an  agreement  about  the  sale  of  this 
old  house.  Real  estate  is  well  up,  and  I  could  afford 
you  a  pretty  handsome  price." 

"  And  I,"   observed  Peter  Goldthwaite,  with  reviv- 


454  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ing  spirits,  "have  a  plan  for  laying  out  the  cash  to 
great  advantage." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  muttered  John  Brown  to  him 
self,  "  we  must  apply  to  the  next  court  for  a  guardian 
to  take  care  of  the  solid  cash ;  and  if  Peter  insists 
upon  speculating,  he  may  do  it,  to  his  heart's  content, 
with  old  PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE." 


• 


CHIPPIXGS   WITH   A   CHISEL. 

PASSING  a  summer,  several  years  since,  at  Edgar- 
town,  on  the  island  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  I  became 
acquainted  with  a  certain  carver  of  tombstones,  who 
had  travelled  and  voyaged  thither  from  the  interior  of 
Massachusetts,  in  search  of  professional  employment. 
The  speculation  had  turned  out  so  successful  that  my 
friend  expected  to  transmute  slate  and  marble  into 
silver  and  gold,  to  the  amount  of  at  least  a  thousand 
dollars,  during  the  few  months  of  his  sojourn  at  Xan- 
tucket  and  the  Vineyard.  The  secluded  life,  and  the 
simple  and  primitive  spirit  which  still  characterizes 
the  inhabitants  of  those  islands,  especially  of  Martha's 
Vineyard,  insure  their  dead  friends  a  longer  and  dearer 
remembrance  than  the  daily  novelty  and  revolving  bus 
tle  of  the  world  can  elsewhere  afford  to  beings  of  the 
past.  Yet  while  every  family  is  anxious  to  erect  a  me 
morial  to  its  departed  members,  the  untainted  breath 
of  ocean  bestows  such  health  and  length  of  days  upon 
the  people  of  the  isles,  as  wrould  cause  a  melancholy 
dearth  of  business  to  a  resident  artist  in  that  line. 
His  own  monument,  recording  his  death  by  starva 
tion,  would  probably  be  an  early  specimen  of  his  skill. 
Gravestones,  therefore,  have  generally  been  an  article 
of  imported  merchandise. 

In  my  walks  through  the  burial-ground  of  Edgar- 
town  —  where  the  dead  have  lain  so  long  that  the  soil, 
once  enriched  by  their  decay,  has  returned  to  its  orig 
inal  barrenness  —  in  that  ancient  burial-ground  I  no- 


456  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ticed  much  variety  of  monumental  sculpture.  The 
elder  stones,  dated  a  century  back  or  more,  have  bor 
ders  elaborately  carved  with  flowers,  and  are  adorned 
with  a  multiplicity  of  death's  heads,  cross-bones,  scythes, 
hour-glasses,  and  other  lugubrious  emblems  of  mortal 
ity,  with  here  and  there  a  winged  cherub  to  direct  the 
mourner's  spirit  upward.  These  productions  of  Gothic 
taste  must  have  been  quite  beyond  the  colonial  skill 
of  the  day,  and  were  probably  carved  in  London,  and 
brought  across  the  ocean  to  commemorate  the  defunct 
worthies  of  this  lonely  isle.  The  more  recent  monu 
ments  are  mere  slabs  of  slate,  in  the  ordinary  style, 
without  any  superfluous  flourishes  to  set  off  the  bald 
inscriptions.  But  others  —  and  those  far  the  most  im 
pressive  both  to  my  taste  and  feelings  —  were  roughly 
hewn  from  the  gray  rocks  of  the  island,  evidently  by 
the  unskilled  hands  of  surviving  friends  and  relatives. 
On  some  there  were  merely  the  initials  of  a  name ; 
some  were  inscribed  with  misspelt  prose  or  rhyme,  in 
deep  letters,  which  the  moss  and  wintry  rain  of  many 
years  had  not  been  able  to  obliterate.  These,  these 
were  graves  where  loved  ones  slept !  It  is  an  old 
theme  of  satire,  the  falsehood  and  vanity  of  monu 
mental  eulogies  ;  but  when  affection  and  sorrow  grave 
the  letters  with  their  own  painful  labor,  then  we  may 
be  sure  that  they  copy  from  the  record  on  their  hearts. 
My  acquaintance,  the  sculptor,  —  he  may  share  that 
title  with  Greenough,  since  the  dauber  of  signs  is  a 
painter  as  well  as  Kaphael,  —  had  found  a  ready  mar 
ket  for  all  his  blank  slabs  of  marble,  and  full  occupa 
tion  in  lettering  and  ornamenting  them.  He  was  an 
elderly  man,  a  descendant  of  the  old  Puritan  family 
of  Wigglesworth,  with  a  certain  simplicity  and  single 
ness  both  of  heart  and  mind,  which,  methinks,  is  more 


• 


CHIPPING S    WITH  A    CHISEL.  457 

rarely  found  among  us  Yankees  than  in  any  other 
community  of  people.  In  spite  of  his  gray  head  and 
wrinkled  brow,  he  was  quite  like  a  child  in  all  matters 
save  what  had  some  reference  to  his  own  business ;  he 
seemed,  unless  my  fancy  misled  me,  to  view  mankind 
in  no  other  relation  than  as  people  in  want  of  tomb 
stones  ;  and  his  literary  attainments  evidently  compre 
hended  very  little,  either  of  prose  or  poetry,  which 
had  not,  at  one  time  or  other,  been  inscribed  on 
slate  or  marble.  His  sole  task  and  office  among  the 
immortal  pilgrims  of  the  tomb  —  the  duty  for  which 
Providence  had  sent  the  old  man  into  the  world  as  it 
were  with  a  chisel  in  his  hand  —  was  to  label  the  dead 
bodies,  lest  their  names  should  be  forgotten  at  the 
resurrection.  Yet  he  had  not  failed,  within  a  narrow 
scope,  to  gather  a  few  sprigs  of  earthly,  and  more  than 
earthly,  wisdom,  —  the  harvest  of  many  a  grave. 

And  lugubrious  as  his  calling  might  appear,  he  was 
as  cheerful  an  old  soul  as  health  and  integrity  and 
lack  of  care  could  make  him,  and  used  to  set  to  work 
upon  one  sorrowful  inscription  or  another  with  that 
sort  of  spirit  which  impels  a  man  to  sing  at  his  labor. 
On  the  whole  I  found  Mr.  Wigglesworth  an  entertain 
ing,  and  often  instructive,  if  not  an  interesting,  char 
acter  ;  and  partly  for  the  charm  of  his  society,  and 
still  more  because  his  work  has  an  invariable  attrac 
tion  for  "man  that  is  born  of  woman,"  I  was  accus 
tomed  to  spend  some  hours  a  day  at  his  workshop. 
The  quaintness  of  his  remarks,  and  their  not  infre 
quent  truth  —  a  truth  condensed  and  pointed  by  the 
limited  sphere  of  his  view  —  gave  a  raciness  to  his 
talk,  which  mere  worldliness  and  general  cultivation 
would  at  once  have  destroyed. 

Sometimes  we  would  discuss  the  respective  merits 


458  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

of  the  various  qualities  of  marble,  numerous  slabs  of 
which  were  resting  against  the  walls  of  the  shop ;  or 
sometimes  an  hour  or  two  would  pass  quietly,  without 
a  word  on  either  side,  while  I  watched  how  neatly  his 
chisel  struck  out  letter  after  letter  of  the  names  of  the 
Nortons,  the  Mayhews,  the  Luces,  the  Daggets,  and 
other  immemorial  families  of  the  Vineyard.  Often, 
with  an  artist's  pride,  the  good  old  sculptor  would 
speak  of  favorite  productions  of  his  skill  which  were 
scattered  throughout  the  village  graveyards  of  New 
England.  But  my  chief  and  most  instructive  amuse 
ment  was  to  witness  his  interviews  with  his  customers, 
who  held  interminable  consultations  about  the  form 
and  fashion  of  the  desired  monuments,  the  buried  ex 
cellence  to  be  commemorated,  the  anguish  to  be  ex 
pressed,  and  finally,  the  lowest  price  in  dollars  and 
cents  for  which  a  marble  transcript  of  their  feelings 
might  be  obtained.  Really,  my  mind  received  many 
fresh  ideas  which,  perhaps,  may  remain  in  it  even 
longer  than  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  hardest  marble  will 
retain  the  deepest  strokes  of  his  chisel. 

An  elderly  lady  came  to  bespeak  a  monument  for 
her  first  love  who  had  been  killed  by  a  whale  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean  no  less  than  forty  years  before.  It  was 
singular  that  so  strong  an  impression  of  early  feeling 
should  have  survived  through  the  changes  of  her  sub 
sequent  life,  in  the  course  of  which  she  had  been  a 
wife  and  a  mother,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  a  com 
fortable  and  happy  woman.  Reflecting  within  myself, 
it  appeared  to  me  that  this  lifelong  sorrow  —  as,  in  all 
good  faith,  she  deemed  it  —  was  one  of  the  most  for 
tunate  circumstances  of  her  history.  It  had  given  an 
ideality  to  her  mind  ;  it  had  kept  her  purer  and  less 
earthly  than  she  would  otherwise  have  been,  by  draw 


CHIPPINGS    WITH  A    CHISEL.  459 

ing  a  portion  of  her  sympathies  apart  from  earth. 
Amid  the  throng  of  enjoyments  and  the  pressure  of 
worldly  care,  and  all  the  warm  materialism  of  this  life, 
she  had  communed  with  a  vision,  and  had  been  the 
better  for  such  intercourse.  Faithful  to  the  husband 
of  her  maturity,  and  loving  him  with  a  far  more  real 
affection  than  she  ever  could  have  felt  for  this  dream 
of  her  girlhood,  there  had  still  been  an  imaginative 
faith  to  the  ocean-buried,  so  that  an  ordinary  character 
had  thus  been  elevated  and  refined.  Her  sighs  had 
been  the  breath  of  heaven  to  her  soul.  The  good 
lady  earnestly  desired  that  the  proposed  monument 
should  be  ornamented  with  a  carved  border  of  marine 
plants,  intertwined  with  twisted  sea-shells,  such  as 
were  probably  waving  over  her  lover's  skeleton,  or 
strewn  around  it  in  the  far  depths  of  the  Pacific. 
But  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  chisel  being  inadequate  to 
the  task,  she  was  forced  to  content  herself  with  a  rose 
hanging  its  head  from  a  broken  stem.  After  her  de 
parture,  I  remarked  that  the  symbol  was  none  of  the 
most  apt. 

"  And  yet,"  said  my  friend  the  sculptor,  embodying 
in  this  image  the  thoughts  that  had  been  passing 
through  my  own  mind,  "  that  broken  rose  has  shed  its 
sweet  smell  through  forty  years  of  the  good  woman's 
life." 

It  was  seldom  that  I  could  find  such  pleasant  food 
for  contemplation  as  in  the  above  instance.  None  of 
the  applicants,  I  think,  affected  me  more  disagreeably 
than  an  old  man  who  came,  with  his  fourth  wife  hang 
ing  on  his  arm,  to  bespeak  gravestones  for  the  three 
former  occupants  of  his  marriage-bed.  I  watched 
with  some  anxiety  to  see  whether  his  remembrance  of 
either  were  more  affectionate  than  of  the  other  two, 


460  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

but  could  discover  no  symptom  of  the  kind.  The 
three  monuments  were  all  to  be  of  the  same  material 
and  form,  and  each  decorated,  in  bass-relief,  with  two 
weeping  willows,  one  of  these  sympathetic  trees  bend 
ing  over  its  fellow,  which  was  to  be  broken  in  the  midst 
and  rest  upon  a  sepulchral  urn.  This,  indeed,  was  Mr. 
Wigglesworth's  standing  emblem  of  conjugal  bereave 
ment.  I  shuddered  at  the  gray  polygamist  who  had 
so  utterly  lost  the  holy  sense  of  individuality  in  wed 
lock,  that  methought  he  was  fain  to  reckon  upon  his 
fingers  how  many  women,  who  had  once  slept  by  his 
side,  were  now  sleeping  in  their  graves.  There  was 
even  —  if  I  wrong  him  it  is  no  great  matter  —  a  glance 
sidelong  at  his  living  spouse,  as  if  he  were  inclined  to 
drive  a  thriftier  bargain  by  bespeaking  four  grave 
stones  in  a  lot.  I  was  better  pleased  with  a  rough  old 
whaling  captain,  who  gave  directions  for  a  broad  mar 
ble  slab,  divided  into  two  compartments,  one  of  which 
was  to  contain  an  epitaph  on  his  deceased  wife,  and 
the  other  to  be  left  vacant,  till  death  should  engrave 
his  own  name  there.  As  is  frequently  the  case  among 
the  whalers  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  so  much  of  this 
storm-beaten  widower's  life  had  been  tossed  away  on 
distant  seas,  that  out  of  twenty  years  of  matrimony 
he  had  spent  scarce  three,  and  those  at  scattered  in 
tervals,  beneath  his  own  roof.  Thus  the  wife  of  his 
youth,  though  she  died  in  his  and  her  declining  age, 
retained  the  bridal  dew-drops  fresh  around  her  memory. 
My  observations  gave  me  the  idea,  and  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth  confirmed  it,  that  husbands  were  more  faithful 
in  setting  up  memorials  to  their  dead  wives  than  wid 
ows  to  their  dead  husbands.  I  was  not  ill-natured 
enough  to  fancy  that  women,  less  than  men,  feel  so 
sure  of  their  constancy  as  to  be  willing  to  give  a 


CHIPPINGS    WITH  A    CHISEL.  461 

pledge  of  it  in  marble.  It  is  more  probably  the  fact 
that  while  men  are  able  to  reflect  upon  their  lost 
companions  as  remembrances  apart  from  themselves, 
women,  on  the  other  hand,  are  conscious  that  a  por 
tion  of  their  being  has  gone  with  the  departed  whith 
ersoever  he  has  gone.  Soul  clings  to  soul ;  the  living 
dust  has  a  sympathy  with  the  dust  of  the  grave  ;  and, 
by  the  very  strength  of  that  sympathy,  the  wife  of  the 
dead  shrinks  the  more  sensitively  from  reminding  the 
world  of  its  existence.  The  link  is  already  strong 
enough;  it  needs  no  visible  symbol.  And  though  a 
shadow  walks  ever  by  her  side,  and  the  touch  of  a  chill 
hand  is  on  her  bosom,  yet  life,  and  perchance  its  nat 
ural  yearnings,  may  still  be  warm  within  her,  and  in 
spire  her  with  new  hopes  of  happiness.  Then  would 
she  mark  out  the  grave,  the  scent  of  which  would  be 
perceptible  on  the  pillow  of  the  second  bridal  ?  Xo  — 
but  rather  level  its  green  mound  with  the  surrounding 
earth,  as  if,  when  she  dug  up  again  her  buried  heart, 
the  spot  had  ceased  to  be  a  grave.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
these  sentimentalities,  I  was  prodigiously  amused  by 
an  incident,  of  which  I  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  be 
a  witness,  but  which  Mr.  Wigglesworth  related  with 
considerable  humor.  A  gentlewoman  of  the  town, 
receiving  news  of  her  husband's  loss  at  sea,  had  be 
spoken  a  handsome  slab  of  marble,  and  came  daily  to 
watch  the  progress  of  my  friend's  chisel.  One  after 
noon,  when  the  good  lady  and  the  sculptor  were  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  epitaph,  which  the  departed  spirit 
might  have  been  greatly  comforted  to  read,  who 
should  walk  into  the  workshop  but  the  deceased  him 
self,  in  substance  as  well  as  spirit !  He  had  been 
picked  up  at  sea,  and  stood  in  no  present  need  of 
tombstone  or  epitaph. 


462  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"And  how,"  inquired  I,  "did  his  wife  bear  the 
shock  of  joyful  surprise  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  the  old  man,  deepening  the  grin  of  a 
death's-head,  on  which  his  chisel  was  just  then  em 
ployed,  "  I  really  felt  for  the  poor  woman ;  it  was  one 
of  my  best  pieces  of  marble  —  and  to  be  thrown  away 
on  a  living  man  !  " 

A  comely  woman,  with  a  pretty  rosebud  of  a 
daughter,  came  to  select  a  gravestone  for  a  twin 
daughter,  who  had  died  a  month  before.  I  was  im 
pressed  with  the  different  nature  of  their  feelings  for 
the  dead  ;  the  mother  was  calm  and  wofully  resigned, 
fully  conscious  of  her  loss,  as  of  a  treasure  which  she 
had  not  always  possessed,  and,  therefore,  had  been 
aware  that  it  might  be  taken  from  her ;  but  the  daugh 
ter  evidently  had  no  real  knowledge  of  what  death's 
doings  were.  Her  thoughts  knew,  but  not  her  heart. 
It  seemed  to  me,  that  by  the  print  and  pressure  which 
the  dead  sister  had  left  upon  the  survivor's  spirit,  her 
feelings  were  almost  the  same  as  if  she  still  stood  side 

O 

by  side  and  arm  in  arm  with  the  departed,  looking  at 
the  slabs  of  marble  ;  and  once  or  twice  she  glanced 
around  with  a  sunny  smile,  which,  as  its  sister  smile 
had  faded  forever,  soon  grew  confusedly  overshad 
owed.  Perchance  her  consciousness  was  truer  than 
her  reflection  —  perchance  her  dead  sister  was  a  closer 
companion  than  in  life.  The  mother  and  daughter 
talked  a  long  while  with  Mr.  Wigglesworth  about  a 
suitable  epitaph,  and  finally  chose  an  ordinary  verse  of 
ill-matched  rhymes,  which  had  already  been  inscribed 
upon  innumerable  tombstones.  But  when  we  ridicule 
the  triteness  of  monumental  verses,  we  forget  that 
Sorrow  reads  far  deeper  in  them  than  we  can,  and 
finds  a  profound  and  individual  purport  in  what  seems 


C  HIPP  INGS    WITH  A    CHISEL.  463 

so  vague  and  inexpressive,  unless  interpreted  by  her. 
She  makes  the  epitaph  anew,  though  the  selfsame 
words  may  have  served  for  a  thousand  graves. 

"  And  yet,"  said  I  afterwards  to  Mr.  Wigglesworth, 
"  they  might  have  made  a  better  choice  than  this. 
While  you  were  discussing  the  subject,  I  was  struck 
by  at  least  a  dozen  simple  and  natural  expressions 
from  the  lips  of  both  mother  and  daughter.  One  of 
these  would  have  formed  an  inscription  equally  orig 
inal  and  appropriate." 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  sculptor,  shaking  his  head; 
"  there  is  a  good  deal  of  comfort  to  be  gathered  from 
these  little  old  scraps  of  poetry ;  and  so  I  always 
recommend  them  in  preference  to  any  new-fangled 
ones.  And  somehow,  they  seem  to  stretch  to  suit  a 
great  grief,  and  shrink  to  fit  a  small  one/' 

It  was  not  seldom  that  ludicrous  images  were  excited 
by  what  took  place  between  Mr.  Wiggles  worth  and 
his  customers.  A  shrewd  gentlewoman,  who  kept  a 
tavern  in  the  town,  was  anxious  to  obtain  two  or  three 
gravestones  for  the  deceased  members  of  her  family, 
and  to  pay  for  these  solemn  commodities  by  taking 
the  sculptor  to  board.  Hereupon  a  fantasy  arose  in 
my  mind  of  good  Mr.  Wigglesworth  sitting  down  to 
dinner  at  a  broad,  flat  tombstone,  carving  one  of  his 
own  plump  little  marble  cherubs,  gnawing  a  pair  of 
cross-bones,  and  drinking  out  of  a  hollow  death's-head, 
or  perhaps  a  lachrymatory  vase,  or  sepulchral  urn, 
while  his  hostess's  dead  children  waited  on  him  at  the 
ghastly  banquet.  On  communicating  this  nonsensical 
picture  to  the  old  man  he  laughed  heartily,  and  pro 
nounced  my  humor  to  be  of  the  right  sort. 

"  I  have  lived  at  such  a  table  all  my  days,"  saii  he, 
"and  eaten  no  small  quantity  of  slate  and  marble." 


464  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Hard  fare  ! "  rejoined  I,  smiling ;  "  but  you  seemed 
to  have  found  it  excellent  of  digestion,  too." 

A  man  of  fifty,  or  thereabouts,  with  a  harsh,  un 
pleasant  countenance,  ordered  a  stone  for  the  grave 
of  his  bittter  enemy,  with  whom  he  had  waged  warfare 
half  a  lifetime,  to  their  mutual  misery  and  ruin.  The 
secret  of  this  phenomenon  was,  that  hatred  had  become 
the  sustenance  and  enjoyment  of  the  poor  wretch's 
soul ;  it  had  supplied  the  place  of  all  kindly  affections ; 
it  had  been  really  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  himself 
and  the  man  who  shared  the  passion ;  and  when  its 
object  died  the  unappeasable  foe  was  the  only  mourner 
for  the  dead.  He  expressed  a  purpose  of  being  buried 
side  by  side  with  his  enemy. 

"  I  doubt  whether  their  dust  will  mingle,"  remarked 
the  old  sculptor  to  me ;  for  often  there  was  an  earthli- 
ness  in  his  conceptions. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  I,  who  had  mused  long  upon  the 
incident ;  "  and  when  they  rise  again,  these  bitter  foes 
may  find  themselves  dear  friends.  Methinks  what  they 
mistook  for  hatred  was  but  love  under  a  mask." 

A  gentleman  of  antiquarian  propensities  provided  a 
memorial  for  an  Indian  of  Chabbiquidick,  one  of  the 
few  of  untainted  blood  remaining  in  that  region,  and 
said  to  be  an  hereditary  chieftain,  descended  from  the 
sachem  who  welcomed  Governor  Mayhew  to  the  Vine 
yard.  Mr.  Wigglesworth  exerted  his  best  skill  to  carve 
a  broken  bow  and  scattered  sheaf  of  arrows,  in  mem 
ory  of  the  hunters  and  warriors  whose  race  was  ended 
here  ;  but  he  likewise  sculptured  a  cherub,  to  denote 
that  the  poor  Indian  had  shared  the  Christian's  hope 
of  immortality. 

"  Why,"  observed  I,  taking  a  perverse  view  of  the 
winged  boy  and  the  bow  and  arrows,  "  it  looks  more 
like  Cupid's  tomb  than  an  Indian  chief's !  " 


CHTPPINGS    WITH  A    CHISEL.  465 

"  You  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  sculptor,  with  the 
offended  pride  of  art ;  he  then  added  with  his  usual 
good  nature,  "  How  can  Cupid  die  when  there  are  such 
pretty  maidens  in  the  Vineyard  ?  " 

"  Very  true,"  answered  I  —  and  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  I  thought  of  other  matters  than  tombstones. 

At  our  next  meeting  I  found  him  chiselling  an  open 
book  upon  a  marble  headstone,  and  concluded  that  it 
was  meant  to  express  the  erudition  of  some  black- 
letter  clergyman  of  the  Cotton  Mather  school.  It 
turned  out,  however,  to  be  emblematical  of  the  script 
ural  knowledge  of  an  old  woman  who  had  never  read 
anything  but  her  Bible  :  and  the  monument  was  a  trib 
ute  to  her  piety  and  good  works  from  the  Orthodox 
church,  of  which  she  had  been  a  member.  In  strange 
contrast  with  this  Christian  woman's  memorial  was 
that  of  an  infidel,  whose  gravestone,  by  his  own  di 
rection,  bore  an  avowal  of  his  belief  that  the  spirit 
within  him  would  be  extinguished  like  a  flame,  and 
that  the  nothingness  whence  he  sprang  would  receive 
him  again.  Mr.  Wigglesworth  consulted  me  as  to  the 
propriety  of  enabling  a  dead  man's  dust  to  utter  this 
dreadful  creed. 

"  If  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  a  single  mortal 
would  read  the  inscription  without  a  shudder,  my 
chisel  should  never  cut  a  letter  of  it.  But  when  the 
grave  speaks  such  falsehoods,  the  soul  of  man  will 
know  the  truth  by  its  own  horror." 

"  So  it  will,"  said  I,  struck  by  the  idea  ;  "  the  poor 
infidel  may  strive  to  preach  blasphemies  from  his 
grave ;  but  it  will  be  only  another  method  of  impress 
ing  the  soul  with  a  consciousness  of  immortality." 

There  was  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Norton, 
noted  throughout  the  island  for  his  greath  wealth, 

VOL.  I.  30 


466  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

which  he  had  accumulated  by  the  exercise  of  strong 
and  shrewd  faculties,  combined  with  a  most  penurious 
disposition.  This  wretched  miser,  conscious  that  he 
had  not  a  friend  to  be  mindful  of  him  in  his  grave,  had 
himself  taken  the  needful  precautions  for  posthumous 
remembrance,  by  bespeaking  an  immense  slab  of 
white  marble,  with  a  long  epitaph  in  raised  letters, 
the  whole  to  be  as  magnificent  as  Mr.  Wiggles  worth's 
skill  could  make  it.  There  was  something  very  char 
acteristic  in  this  contrivance  to  have  his  money's 
worth  even  from  his  own  tombstone,  which,  indeed, 
afforded  him  more  enjoyment  in  the  few  months  that 
he  lived  thereafter,  than  it  probably  will  in  a  whole 
century,  now  that  it  is  laid  over  his  bones.  This  inci 
dent  reminds  me  of  a  young  girl,  —  a  pale,  slender,  fee 
ble  creature,  most  unlike  the  other  rosy  and  healthful 
damsels  of  the  Vineyard,  amid  whose  brightness  she 
was  fading  away.  Day  after  day  did  the  poor  maiden 
come  to  the  sculptor's  shop,  and  pass  from  one  piece 
of  marble  to  another,  till  at  last  she  pencilled  her 
name  upon  a  slender  slab,  which,  I  think,  was  of  a 
more  spotless  white  than  all  the  rest.  I  saw  her  no 
more,  but  soon  afterwards  found  Mr.  Wigglesworth 
cutting  her  virgin  name  into  the  stone  which  she  had 
chosen. 

"  She  is  dead  —  poor  girl,"  said  he,  interrupting  the 
tune  which  he  was  whistling,  "  and  she  chose  a  good 
piece  of  stuff  for  her  headstone.  Now  which  of  these 
slabs  would  you  like  best  to  see  your  own  name 
upon?" 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  good  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth,"  replied  I,  after  a  moment's  pause,  —  for  the 
abruptness  of  the  question  had  somewhat  startled  me, 
— "  to  be  quite  sincere  with  you,  I  care  little  or  noth 


CHIPPINGS    WITH  A    CHISEL.  467 

ing  about  a  stone  for  my  own  grave,  and  am  somewhat 
inclined  to  scepticism  as  to  the  propriety  of  erecting 
monuments  at  all  over  the  dust  that  once  was  human. 
The  weight  of  these  heavy  marbles,  though  unfelt 
by  the  dead  corpse  of  the  enfranchised  soul,  presses 
drearily  upon  the  spirit  of  the  survivor,  and  causes 
him  to  connect  the  idea  of  death  with  the  dungeon- 
like  imprisonment  of  the  tomb,  instead  of  with  the 
freedom  of  the  skies.  Every  gravestone  that  you  ever 
made  is  the  visible  symbol  of  a  mistaken  system.  Our 
thoughts  should  soar  upward  with  the  butterfly  —  not 
linger  with  the  exuviae  that  confined  him.  In  truth 
and  reason,  neither  those  whom  we  call  the  living,  and 
still  less  the  departed,  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
grave." 

"  I  never  heard  anything  so  heathenish !  "  said  Mr. 
TTigglesworth,  perplexed  and  displeased  at  sentiments 
which  controverted  all  his  notions  and  feelings,  and 
implied  the  utter  waste,  and  worse,  of  his  whole  life's 
labor ;  "  would  you  forget  your  dead  friends,  the 
moment  they  are  under  the  sod  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  under  the  sod,"  I  rejoined ;  "  then 
why  should  I  mark  the  spot  where  there  is  no  treasure 
hidden !  Forget  them  ?  No !  But  to  remember  them 
aright,  I  would  forget  what  they  have  cast  off.  And 
to  gain  the  truer  conception  of  DEATH,  I  would  forget 
the  GRAVE!" 

But  still  the  good  old  sculptor  murmured,  and  stum 
bled,  as  it  were,  over  the  gravestones  amid  which  he 
had  walked  through  life.  Whether  he  were  right  or 
wrong,  I  had  grown  the  wiser  from  our  companionship, 
and  from  my  observations  of  nature  and  character  as 
displayed  by  those  who  came,  with  their  old  griefs  or 
their  new  ones,  to  get  them  recorded  upon  his  slabs  of 


468  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

marble.  And  yet,  with  my  gain  of  wisdom,  I  had 
likewise  gained  perplexity;  for  there  was  a  strange 
doubt  in  my  mind,  whether  the  dark  shadowing  of  this 
life,  the  sorrows  and  regrets,  have  not  as  much  real 
comfort  in  them  —  leaving  religious  influences  out  of 
the  question — as  what  we  term  life's  joys. 


THE   SHAKER   BRIDAL. 

ONE  day,  in  the  sick  chamber  of  Father  Ephraim, 
who  had  been  forty  years  the  presiding  elder  over  the 
Shaker  settlement  at  Goshen,  there  was  an  assemblage 
of  several  of  the  chief  men  of  the  sect.  Individuals 
had  come  from  the  rich  establishment  at  Lebanon, 
from  Canterbury,  Harvard,  and  Alfred,  and  from  all 
the  other  localities  where  this  strange  people  have 
fertilized  the  rugged  hills  of  New  England  by  their 
systematic  industry.  An  elder  was  likewise  there,  who 
had  made  a  pilgrimage  of  a  thousand  miles  from  a  vil 
lage  of  the  faithful  in  Kentucky,  to  visit  his  spiritual 
kindred,  the  children  of  the  sainted  mother  Ann.  He 
had  partaken  of  the  homely  abundance  of  their  tables, 
had  quaffed  the  far-famed  Shaker  cider,  and  had 
joined  in  the  sacred  dance,  every  step  of  which  is  be 
lieved  to  alienate  the  enthusiast  from  earth,  and  bear 
him  onward  to  heavenly  purity  and  bliss.  His  breth 
ren  of  the  north  had  now  courteously  invited  him  to 
be  present  on  an  occasion,  when  the  concurrence  of 
every  eminent  member  of  their  community  was  pecul 
iarly  desirable. 

The  venerable  Father  Ephraim  sat  in  his  easy 
chair,  not  only  hoary  headed  and  infirm  with  age,  but 
worn  down  by  a  lingering  disease,  which,  it  was  evi 
dent,  would  very  soon  transfer  his  patriarchal  staff  to 
other  hands.  At  his  footstool  stood  a  man  and  woman, 
both  clad  in  the  Shaker  garb. 

"  My  brethren,"  said  Father  Ephraim  to  the  sur- 


470  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

rounding  elders,  feebly  exerting  himself  to  utter  these 
few  words,  "  here  are  the  son  and  daughter  to  whom 
I  would  commit  the  trust  of  which  Providence  is  about 
to  lighten  my  weary  shoulders.  Read  their  faces,  I 
pray  you,  and  say  whether  the  inward  movement  of 
the  spirit  hath  guided  my  choice  aright." 

Accordingly,  each  elder  looked  at  the  two  candi 
dates  with  a  most  scrutinizing  gaze.  The  man,  whose 
name  was  Adam  Colburn,  had  a  face  sunburnt  with 
labor  in  the  fields,  yet  intelligent,  thoughtful,  and 
traced  with  cares  enough  for  a  whole  lifetime,  though 
he  had  barely  reached  middle  age.  There  was  some 
thing  severe  in  his  aspect,  and  a  rigidity  throughout 
his  person,  characteristics  that  caused  him  generally 
to  be  taken  for  a  school-master,  which  vocation,  in 
fact,  he  had  formerly  exercised  for  several  years.  The 
woman,  Martha  Pierson,  was  somewhat  above  thirty, 
thin  and  pale,  as  a  Shaker  sister  almost  invariably  is, 
and  not  entirely  free  from  that  corpse-like  appearance 
which  the  garb  of  the  sisterhood  is  so  well  calculated 
to  impart. 

"  This  pair  are  still  in  the  summer  of  their  years," 
observed  the  elder  from  Harvard,  a  shrewd  old  man. 
"  I  would  like  better  to  see  the  hoar-frost  of  autumn 
on  their  heads.  Methinks,  also,  they  will  be  exposed 
to  peculiar  temptations,  on  account  of  the  carnal  de 
sires  which  have  heretofore  subsisted  between  them." 

"  Nay,  brother,"  said  the  elder  from  Canterbury, 
"  the  hoar-frost  and  the  black-frost  hath  done  its  work 
on  Brother  Adam  and  Sister  Martha,  even  as  we 
sometimes  discern  its  traces  in  our  cornfields,  while 
they  are  yet  green.  And  why  should  we  question  the 
wisdom  of  our  venerable  Father's  purpose  although 
this  pair,  in  their  early  youth,  have  loved  one  another 


THE   SHAKER  BRIDAL.  471 

as  the  world's  people  love?  Are  there  not  many 
brethren  and  sisters  among  us,  who  have  lived  long 
together  in  wedlock,  yet,  adopting  our  faith,  find  their 
hearts  purified  from  all  but  spiritual  affection  ?  " 

Whether  or  110  the  early  loves  of  A  (lain  and  Martha 
had  rendered  it  inexpedient  that  they  should  now  pre 
side  together  over  a  Shaker  village,  it  was  certainly 
most  singular  that  such  should  be  the  final  result  of 
many  warm  and  tender  hopes.  Children  of  neighbor 
ing  families,  their  affection  was  older  even  than  their 
school-days ,  it  seemed  an  innate  principle,  interfused 
among  all  their  sentiments  and  feelings,  and  not  so 
much  a  distinct  remembrance,  as  connected  with  their 
whole  volume  of  remembrances.  But,  just  as  they 
reached  a  proper  age  for  their  union,  misfortunes  had 
fallen  heavily  on  both,  and  made  it  necessary  that  they 
should  resort  to  personal  labor  for  a  bare  subsistence. 
Even  under  these  circumstances,  Martha  Pierson 
would  probably  have  consented  to  unite  her  fate  with 
Adam  Colburn's,  and,  secure  of  the  bliss  of  mutual 
love,  would  patiently  have  awaited  the  less  important 
gifts  of  fortune.  But  Adam,  being  of  a  calm  and 
cautious  character,  was  loath  to  relinquish  the  advan 
tages  which  a  single  man  possesses  for  raising  himself 
in  the  world.  Year  after  year,  therefore,  their  mar 
riage  had  been  deferred.  Adam  Colburn  had  followed 
many  vocations,  had  travelled  far,  and  seen  much  of 
the  world  and  of  life.  Martha  had  earned  her  bread 
sometimes  as  a  seamstress,  sometimes  as  help  to  a 
farmer's  wife,  sometimes  as  school-mistress  of  the  vil 
lage  children,  sometimes  as  a  nurse  or  watcher  of  the 
sick,  thus  acquiring  a  varied  experience,  the  ultimate 
use  of  which  she  little  anticipated.  But  nothing  had 
gone  prosperously  with  either  of  the  lovers  ;  at  no 


472  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

subsequent  moment  would  matrimony  have  been  so 
prudent  a  measure  as  when  they  had  first  parted,  in 
the  opening  bloom  of  life,  to  seek  a  better  fortune. 
Still  they  had  held  fast  their  mutual  faith.  Martha 
might  have  been  the  wife  of  a  man  who  sat  among 
the  senators  of  his  native  state,  and  Adam  could  have 
won  the  hand,  as  he  had  unintentionally  won  the  heart, 
of  a  rich  and  comely  widow.  But  neither  of  them  de 
sired  good  fortune  save  to  share  it  with  the  other. 

At  length  that  calm  despair  which  occurs  only  in  a 
strong  and  somewhat  stubborn  character,  and  yields  to 
no  second  spring  of  hope,  settled  down  on  the  spirit  of 
Adam  Colburn.  He  sought  an  interview  with  Martha, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  join  the  Society  of 
Shakers.  The  converts  of  this  sect  are  oftener  driven 
within  its  hospitable  gates  by  worldly  misfortune  than 
drawn  thither  by  fanaticism,  and  are  received  without 
inquisition  as  to  their  motives.  Martha,  faithful  still, 
had  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  her  lover,  and  accom 
panied  him  to  the  Shaker  village.  Here  the  natural 
capacity  of  each,  cultivated  and  strengthened  by  the 
difficulties  of  their  previous  lives,  had  soon  gained  them 
an  important  rank  in  the  Society,  whose  members  are 
generally  below  the  ordinary  standard  of  intelligence. 
Their  faith  and  feelings  had,  in  some  degree,  become 
assimilated  to  those  of  their  fellow-worshippers.  Adam 
Colburn  gradually  acquired  reputation,  not  only  in  the 
management  of  the  temporal  affairs  of  the  Society, 
but  as  a  clear  and  efficient  preacher  of  their  doctrines. 
Martha  was  not  less  distinguished  in  the  duties  proper 
to  her  sex.  Finally,  when  the  infirmities  of  Father 
Ephraim  had  admonished  him  to  seek  a  successor  in 
his  patriarchal  office,  he  thought  of  Adam  and  Martha, 
and  proposed  to  renew,  in  their  persons,  the  primitive 


• 


THE   SHAKER  BRIDAL.  473 

form  of  Shaker  government,  as  established  by  Mother 
Ann.  They  were  to  be  the  Father  and  Mother  of  the 
village.  The  simple  ceremony,  which  would  consti 
tute  them  such,  was  now  to  be  performed. 

4k  Son  Adam,  and  daughter  Martha,"  said  the  vener 
able  Father  Ephraim,  fixing  his  aged  eyes  piercingly 
upon  them,  "  if  ye  can  conscientiously  undertake  this" 
charge,  speak,  that  the  brethren  may  not  doubt  of 
your  fitness." 

"  Father,"  replied  Adam,  speaking  with  the  calm 
ness  of  his  character,  "  I  came  to  your  village  a  disap 
pointed  man,  weary  of  the  world,  worn  out  with  con 
tinual  trouble,  seeking  only  a  security  against  evil 
fortune,  as  I  had  no  hope  of  good.  Even  my  wishes 
of  worldly  success  were  almost  dead  within  me.  I 
came  hither  as  a  man  might  come  to  a  tomb,  willing 
to  lie  down  in  its  gloom  and  coldness,  for  the  sake  of 
its  peace  and  quiet.  There  was  but  one  earthly  affec 
tion  in  my  breast,  and  it  had  grown  calmer  since  my 
youth ;  so  that  I  was  satisfied  to  bring  Martha  to  be 
my  sister,  in  our  new  abode.  We  are  brother  and 
sister ;  nor  would  I  have  it  otherwise.  And  in  this 
peaceful  village  I  have  found  all  that  I  hoped  for,  — 
all  that  I  desire.  I  will  strive,  with  my  best  strength, 
for  the  spiritual  and  temporal  good  of  our  community. 
My  conscience  is  not  doubtful  in  this  matter.  I  am 
ready  to  receive  the  trust/' 

u  Thou  hast  spoken  well,  son  Adam,"  said  the  Fa 
ther.  "  God  will  bless  thee  in  the  office  which  I  am 

about  to  resign." 

&  • 

kk  But  our  sister ! '  observed  the  elder  from  Har 
vard,  '"hath  she  not  likewise  a  gift  to  declare  her 
sentiments?" 

Martha  started,  and  moved  her  lips,  as  if  she  would 


474  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

have  made  a  formal  reply  to  this  appeal.  But,  had 
she  attempted  it,  perhaps  the  old  recollections,  the 
long-repressed  feelings  of  childhood,  youth,  and  wom 
anhood,  might  have  gushed  from  her  heart,  in  words 
that  it  would  have  been  profanation  to  utter  there. 

"  Adam  has  spoken,"  said  she  hurriedly  ;  "  his  sen 
timents  are  likewise  mine." 

But  while  speaking  these  few  words,  Martha  grew 
so  pale  that  she  looked  fitter  to  be  laid  in  her  coffin 
than  to  stand  in  the  presence  of  Father  Ephraim  and 
the  elders ;  she  shuddered,  also,  as  if  there  were  some 
thing  awful  or  horrible  in  her  situation  and  destiny. 
It  required,  indeed,  a  more  than  feminine  strength  of 
nerve,  to  sustain  the  fixed  observance  of  men  so  ex 
alted  and  famous  throughout  the  sect  as  these  were. 
They  had  overcome  their  natural  sympathy  with  hu 
man  frailties  and  affections.  One,  when  he  joined  the 
Society,  had  brought  with  him  his  wife  and  children, 
but  never,  from  that  hour,  had  spoken  a  fond  word 
to  the  former,  or  taken  his  best-loved  child  upon  his 
knee.  Another,  whose  family  refused  to  follow  him, 
had  been  enabled  —  such  was  his  gift  of  holy  forti 
tude  —  to  leave  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  world.  The 
youngest  of  the  elders,  a  man  of  about  fifty,  had  been 
bred  from  infancy  in  a  Shaker  village,  and  was  said 
never  to  have  clasped  a  woman's  hand  in  his  own,  and 
to  have  no  conception  of  a  closer  tie  than  the  cold  fra 
ternal  one  of  the  sect.  Old  Father  Ephraim  was  the 
most  awful  character  of  all.  In  his  youth  he  had 
been  a  dissolute  libertine,  but  was  converted  by  Mother 
Ann  herself,  and  had  partaken  of  the  wild  fanaticism 
of  the  early  Shakers.  Tradition  whispered,  at  the 
firesides  of  the  village,  that  Mother  Ann  had  been 
compelled  to  sear  his  heart  of  flesh  with  a  red-hot  iron 
before  it  could  be  purified  from  earthly  passions. 


THE   SHAKER   BRIDAL.  475 

However  that  might  be,  poor  Martha  had  a  woman's 
heart,  and  a  tender  one,  and  it  quailed  within  her,  as 
she  looked  round  at  those  strange  old  men,  and  from 
them  to  the  calm  features  of  Adam  Colburn.  But 
perceiving  that  the  elders  eyed  her  doubtfully,  she 
gasped  for  breath,  and  again  spoke. 

"  With  what  strength  is  left  me  by  my  many 
troubles,"  said  she,  "  I  am  ready  to  undertake  this 
charge,  and  to  do  my  best  in  it." 

44  My  children,  join  your  hands,"  said  Father 
.Ephraim. 

They  did  so.  The  elders  stood  up  around,  and  the 
Father  feebly  raised  himself  to  a  more  erect  position, 
but  continued  sitting  in  his  great  chair. 

"  I  have  bidden  you  to  join  your  hands,"  said  he, 
"not  in  earthly  affection,  for  ye  have  cast  off  its 
chains  forever ;  but  as  brother  and  sister  in  spiritual 
love,  and  helpers  of  one  another  in  your  allotted 
task.  Teach  unto  others  the  faith  which  ye  have  re 
ceived.  Open  wide  your  gates,  —  I  deliver  you  the 
keys  thereof,  —  open  them  wide  to  all  who  will  give 
up  the  iniquities  of  the  world,  and  come  hither  to  lead 
lives  of  purity  and  peace.  Receive  the  weary  ones, 
who  have  known  the  vanity  of  earth,  —  receive  the 
little  children,  that  they  may  never  learn  that  misera 
ble  lesson.  And  a  blessing  be  upon  your  labors ,-  so 
that  the  time  may  hasten  on,  when  the  mission  of 
Mother  Ann  shall  have  wrought  its  full  effect,  —  when 
children  shall  no  more  be  born  and  die,  and  the  last 
survivor  of  mortal  race,  some  old  and  weary  man  like 
me,  shall  see  the  sun  go  down,  nevermore  to  rise  on  a 
world  of  sin  and  sorrow !  " 

The  aged  Father  sank  back  exhausted,  and  the  sur 
rounding  elders  deemed,  with  good  reason,  that  the 


476  TWICE  TOLD   TALES. 

hour  was  come  when  the  new  heads  of  the  village 
must  enter  on  their  patriarchal  duties.  In  their  atten 
tion  to  Father  Ephraim,  their  eyes  were  turned  from 
Martha  Pierson,  who  grew  paler  and  paler,  unnoticed 
even  by  Adam  Colburn.  He,  indeed,  had  withdrawn 
his  hand  from  hers,  and  folded  his  arms  with  a  sense 
of  satisfied  ambition.  But  paler  and  paler  grew  Mar 
tha  by  his  side,  till,  like  a  corpse  in  its  burial  clothes, 
she  sank  down  at  the  feet  of  her  early  lover ;  for, 
after  many  trials  firmly  borne,  her  heart  could  endure 
the  weight  of  its  desolate  agony  no  longer. 


NIGHT   SKETCHES. 

BENEATH   AN   UMBRELLA. 

PLEASANT  is  a  rainy  winter's  day,  within  doors! 
The  best  study  for  such  a  day,  or  the  best  amusement, 
—  call  it  which  you  will,  —  is  a  book  of  travels,  de 
scribing  scenes  the  most  unlike  that  sombre  one  which 
is  mistily  presented  through  the  windows.  I  have 
experienced  that  fancy  is  then  most  successful  in  im 
parting  distinct  shapes  and  vivid  colors  to  the  objects 
which  the  author  has  spread  upon  his  page,  and  that 
his  words  become  magic  spells  to  summon  up  a  thou 
sand  varied  pictures.  Strange  landscapes  glimmer 
through  the  familiar  walls  of  the  room,  and  outlandish 
figures  thrust  themselves  almost  within  the  sacred  pre 
cincts  of  the  hearth.  Small  as  my  chamber  is,  it  has 
space  enough  to  contain  the  ocean-like  circumference 
of  an  Arabian  desert,  its  parched  sands  tracked  by  the 
long  line  of  a  caravan,  with  the  camels  patiently  jour 
neying  through  the  heavy  sunshine.  Though  my  ceil 
ing  be  not  lofty,  yet  I  can  pile  up  the  mountains  of 
Central  Asia  beneath  it,  till  their  summits  shine  far 
above  the  clouds  of  the  middle  atmosphere.  And  with 
my  humble  means,  a  wealth  that  is  not  taxable,  I  can 
transport  hither  the  magnificent  merchandise  of  an 
Oriental  bazaar,  and  call  a  crowd  of  purchasers  from 
distant  countries  to  pay  a  fair  profit  for  the  precious 
articles  which  are  displayed  on  all  sides.  True  it  is, 
however,  that  amid  the  bustle  of  traffic,  or  whatever 


478  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

else  may  seem  to  be  going  on  around  me,  the  rain-drops 
will  occasionally  be  heard  to  patter  against  my  window 
panes,  which  look  forth  upon  one  of  the  quietest  streets 
in  a  New  England  town.  After  a  time,  too,  the  vis 
ions  vanish,  and  will  not  appear  again  at  my  bidding. 
Then,  it  being  nightfall,  a  gloomy  sense  of  unreality 
depresses  my  spirits,  and  impels  me  to  venture  out, 
before  the  clock  shall  strike  bedtime,  to  satisfy  myself 
that  the  world  is  not  entirely  made  up  of  such  shad 
owy  materials  as  have  busied  me  throughout  the  day. 
A  dreamer  may  dwell  so  long  among  fantasies,  that 
the  things  without  him  will  seem  as  unreal  as  those 
within. 

When  eve  has  fairly  set  in,  therefore,  I  sally  forth, 
tightly  buttoning  my  shaggy  overcoat,  and  hoisting 
my  umbrella,  the  silken  dome  of  which  immediately 
resounds  with  the  heavy  drumming  of  the  invisible 
rain-drops.  Pausing  on  the  lowest  doorstep,  I  contrast 
the  warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  my  deserted  fireside 
with  the  drear  obscurity  and  chill  discomfort  into 
which  I  am  about  to  plunge.  Now  come  fearful  augu 
ries,  innumerable  as  the  drops  of  rain.  Did  not  my 
manhood  cry  shame  upon  me  I  should  turn  back  within 
doors,  resume  my  elbow-chair,  my  slippers,  and  my 
book,  pass  such  an  evening  of  sluggish  enjoyment  as 
the  day  has  been,  and  go  to  bed  inglorious.  The 
same  shivering  reluctance,  no  doubt,  has  quelled,  for 
a  moment,  the  adventurous  spirit  of  many  a  traveller, 
when  his  feet,  which  were  destined  to  measure  the 
earth  around,  were  leaving  their  last  tracks  in  the 
home  paths. 

In  my  own  case  poor  human  nature  may  be  allowed 
a  few  misgivings.  I  look  upward,  and  discern  no  sky 
not  even  an  unfathomable  void,  but  only  a  black,  in* 


NIGHT  SKETCHES.  479 

penetrable  nothingness,  as  though  heaven  and  all  its 
lights  were  blotted  from  the  system  of  the  universe. 
It  is  as  if  Nature  were  dead,  and  the  world  had  put  on 
black,  and  the  clouds  were  weeping  for  her.  With 
their  tears  upon  my  cheek,  I  turn  my  eyes  earthward, 
but  find  little  consolation  here  below.  A  lamp  is 
burning  dimly  at  the  distant  corner,  and  throws  just 
enough  of  light  along  the  street  to  show  and  exag 
gerate  by  so  faintly  showing  the  perils  and  difficulties 
which  beset  my  path.  Yonder  dingily  white  remnant 
of  a  huge  snow-bank,  —  which  will  yet  cumber  the 
sidewalk  till  the  latter  days  of  March,  —  over  or 
through  that  wintry  waste  must  I  stride  onward. 
Beyond  lies  a  certain  Slough  of  Despond,  a  concoc 
tion  of  mud  and  liquid  filth,  ankle-deep,  leg-deep, 
neck-deep,  —  in  a  word,  of  unknown  bottom,  —  on 
which  the  lamplight  does  not  even  glimmer,  but  which 
I  have  occasionally  watched  in  the  gradual  growth  of 
its  horrors  from  morn  till  nightfall.  Should  I  flounder 
into  its  depths,  farewell  to  upper  earth  !  And  hark ! 
how  roughly  resounds  the  roaring  of  a  stream,  the 
turbulent  career  of  which  is  partially  reddened  by  the 
gleam  of  the  lamp,  but  elsewhere  brawls  noisily 
through  the  densest  gloom.  Oh,  should  I  be  swept 
away  in  fording  that  impetuous  and  unclean  torrent, 
the  coroner  will  have  a  job  with  an  unfortunate  gen 
tleman  who  would  fain  end  his  troubles  anywhere 
but  in  a  mud  puddle  ! 

Pshaw !    I  will  linger  not  another  instant  at  arm's- 

O 

length  from  these  dim  terrors,  which  grow  more  ob 
scurely  formidable  the  longer  I  delay  to  grapple  with 
them.  Now  for  the  onset !  And  lo  !  with  little  dam 
age,  save  a  dash  of  rain  in  the  face  and  breast,  a 
splash  of  mud  high  up  the  pantaloons,  and  the  left 


480  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

boot  full  of  ice-cold  water,  behold  me  at  the  corner 
of  the  street.  The  lamp  throws  down  a  circle  of  red 
light  around  me  :  and  twinkling  onward  from  corner 
to  corner  I  discern  other  beacons  marshalling  my  way 
to  a  brighter  scene.  But  this  is  a  lonesome  and  dreary 
spot.  The  tall  edifices  bid  gloomy  defiance  to  the 
storm,  with  their  blinds  all  closed,  even  as  a  man 
winks  when  he  faces  a  spattering  gust.  How  loudly 
tinkles  the  collected  rain  down  the  tin  spouts  !  The 
puffs  of  wind  are  boisterous,  and  seem  to  assail  me 
from  various  quarters  at  once.  I  have  often  observed 
that  this  corner  is  a  haunt  and  loitering-place  for  those 
winds  which  have  no  work  to  do  upon  the  deep,  dash 
ing  ships  against  our  iron-bound  shores  ;  nor  in  the 
forest,  tearing  up  the  sylvan  giants  with  half  a  rood  of 
soil  at  their  vast  roots.  Here  they  amuse  themselves 
with  lesser  freaks  of  mischief.  See,  at  this  moment, 
how  they  assail  yonder  poor  woman,  who*is  passing 
just  within  the  verge  of  the  lamplight !  One  blast 
struggles  for  her  umbrella,  and  turns  it  wrong  side 
outward  ;  another  whisks  the  cape  of  her  cloak  across 
her  eyes  ;  while  a  third  takes  most  unwarrantable  lib 
erties  with  the  lower  part  of  her  attire.  Happily  the 
good  dame  is  no  gossamer,  but  a  figure  of  rotundity 
and  fleshly  substance  ;  else  would  these  aerial  tor 
mentors  whirl  her  aloft,  like  a  witch  upon  a  broom 
stick,  and  set  her  down,  doubtless,  in  the  filthiest  ken 
nel  hereabout. 

From  hence  I  tread  upon  firm  pavements  into  the 
centre  of  the  town.  Here  there  is  almost  as  brilliant 
an  illumination  as  when  some  great  victory  has  been 
won,  either  on  the  battle-field  or  at  the  polls.  Two 
rows  of  shops,  with  windows  down  nearly  to  the 
ground,  cast  a  glow  from  side  to  side,  while  the  black 


NIGHT  SKETCHES.  481 

night  hangs  overhead  like  a  canopy,  and  thus  keeps 
the  splendor  from  diffusing  itself  away.  The  wet 
sidewalks  gleam  with  a  broad  sheet  of  red  light.  The 
rain-drops  glitter,  as  if  the  sky  were  pouring  down 
rubies.  The  spouts  gush  with  fire.  Methinks  the 
scene  is  an  emblem  of  the  deceptive  glare  which  mor 
tals  throw  around  their  footsteps  in  the  moral  world, 
thus  bedazzling  themselves  till  they  forget  the  impen 
etrable  obscurity  that  hems  them  in,  and  that  can  be 
dispelled  only  by  radiance  from  above.  And  after  all 
it  is  a  cheerless  scene,  and  cheerless  are  the  wanderers 
in  it.  Here  comes  one  who  has  so  long  been  familiar 
with  tempestuous  weather  that  he  takes  the  bluster  of 
the  storm  for  a  friendly  greeting,  as  if  it  should  say, 
"  How  fare  ye,  brother  ?  "  He  is  a  retired  sea-cap 
tain,  wrapped  in  some  nameless  garment  of  the  pea- 
jacket  order,  and  is  now  laying  his  course  towards  the 
Marine  Insurance  Office,  there  to  spin  yarns  of  gale 
and  shipwreck  with  a  crew  of  old  sea-dogs  like  him 
self.  The  blast  will  put  in  its  word  among  their 
hoarse  voices,  and  be  understood  by  all  of  them. 
Next  1  meet  an  unhappy  slipshod  gentleman,  with  a 
cloak  flung  hastily  over  his  shoulders,  running  a  race 
with  boisterous  winds,  and  striving  to  glide  between 
the  drops  of  rain.  Some  domestic  emergency  or  other 
has  blown  this  miserable  man  from  his  warm  fireside 
in  quest  of  a  doctor  !  See  that  little  vagabond  —  how 
carelessly  he  has  taken  his  stand  right  underneath  a 
spout,  while  staring  at  some  object  of  curiosity  in  a 
shop-window  !  Surely  the  rain  is  his  native  element ; 
he  must  have  fallen  with  it  from  the  clouds,  as  frogs 
are  supposed  to  do. 

Here  is  a  picture,  and  a  pretty  one.     A  young  man 
and  a  girl,  both  enveloped  in  cloaks,  and  huddled  be- 


482  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

neath  the  scanty  protection  of  a  cotton  umbrella.  She 
wears  rubber  overshoes,  but  he  is  in  his  dancing 
pumps ;  and  they  are  on  their  way,  no  doubt,  to  some 
cotillon  party,  or  subscription  ball  at  a  dollar  a  head, 
refreshments  included.  Thus  they  struggle  against 
the  gloomy  tempest,  lured  onward  by  a  vision  of  fes 
tal  splendor.  But,  ah  !  a  most  lamentable  disaster,, 
Bewildered  by  che  red,  blue,  and  yellow  meteors,  in 
an  apothecary's  window,  they  have  stepped  upon  a 
slippery  remnant  of  ice,  and  are  precipitated  into  a 
confluence  of  swollen  floods,  at  the  corner  of  two 
streets.  Luckless  lovers  !  Were  it  my  nature  to  be 
other  than  a  looker-on  in  life,  I  would  attempt  your 
rescue.  Since  that  may  not  be,  I  vow,  should  you  be 
drowned,  to  weave  such  a  pathetic  story  of  your  fate 
as  shall  call  forth  tears  enough  to  drown  you  both 
anew.  Do  ye  touch  bottom,  my  young  friends  ?  Yes  ; 
they  emerge  like  a  water  nymph  and  a  river  deity, 
and  paddle  hand  in  hand  out  of  the  depths  of  the 
dark  pool.  They  hurry  homeward,  dripping,  discon 
solate,  abashed,  but  with  love  too  warm  to  be  chilled 
by  the  cold  water.  They  have  stood  a  test  which 
proves  too  strong  for  many.  Faithful,  though  over 
head  and  ears  in  trouble  ! 

Onward  I  go,  deriving  a  sympathetic  joy  or  sorrow 
from  the  varied  aspect  of  mortal  affairs,  even  as  my 
figure  catches  a  gleam  from  the  lighted  windows,  or 
is  blackened  by  an  interval  of  darkness.  Not  that 
mine  is  altogether  a  chameleon  spirit,  with  no  hue  of 
its  own.  Now  I  pass  into  a  more  retired  street,  where 
the  dwellings  of  wealth  and  poverty  are  intermingled, 
presenting  a  range  of  strongly  contrasted  pictures. 
Here,  too,  may  be  found  the  golden  mean.  Through 
yonder  casement  I  discern  a  family  circle,  —  the  grand 


NIGHT  SKETCHES.  483 

mother,  the  parents,  and  the  children,  —  all  flicker 
ing,  shadow-like,  in  the  glow  of  a  wood  fire.  Bluster, 
fierce  blast,  and  beat,  thou  wintry  rain,  against  the 
window  panes  !  Ye  cannot  damp  the  enjoyment  of 
that  fireside.  Surely  my  fate  is  hard  that  I  should 
be  wandering  homeless  here,  taking  to  my  bosom 
night  and  storm  and  solitude,  instead  of  wife  and 
children.  Peace,  murmurer  !  Doubt  not  that  darker 
guests  are  sitting  round  the  hearth,  though  the  warm 
blaze  hides  all  but  blissful  images.  Well ;  here  is 
still  a  brighter  scene.  A  stately  mansion  illuminated 
for  a  ball,  with  cut-glass  chandeliers  and  alabaster 
lamps  in  every  room,  and  sunny  landscapes  hanging 
round  the  walls.  See  !  a  coach  has  stopped,  whence 
emerges  a  slender  beauty,  who,  canopied  by  two  um 
brellas,  glides  within  the  portal,  and  vanishes  amid 
lightsome  thrills  of  music.  AVill  she  ever  feel  the 

o 

night  wind  and  the  rain  ?  Perhaps,  — perhaps  !  And 
will  Death  and  Sorrow  ever  enter  that  proud  man 
sion  ?  As  surely  as  the  dancers  will  be  gay  within  its 
halls  to-night.  Such  thoughts  sadden,  yet  satisfy  my 
heart ;  for  they  teach  me  that  the  poor  man  in  this 
mean,  weather-beaten  hovel,  without  a  fire  to  cheer 
him,  may  call  the  rich  his  brother,  —  brethren  by  Sor 
row,  who  must  be  an  inmate  of  both  their  households, 
—  brethren  by  Death,  who  will  lead  them  both  to  other 
homes. 

Onward,  still  onward,  I  plunge  into  the  night. 
Now  have  I  reached  the  utmost  limits  of  the  town, 
where  the  last  lamp  struggles  feebly  with  the  dark 
ness,  like  the  farthest  star  that  stands  sentinel  on  the 
borders  of  uncreated  space.  It  is  strange  what  sen 
sations  of  sublimity  may  spring  from  a  very  humble 
source.  Such  are  suggested  by  this  hollow  roar  of  a 


484  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

subterranean  cataract,  where  the  mighty  stream  of  a 
kennel  precipitates  itself  beneath  an  iron  grate,  and  is 
seen  no  more  on  earth.  Listen  awhile  to  its  voice  of 
mystery,  and  fancy  will  magnify  it  till  you  start  and 
smile  at  the  illusion.  And  now  another  sound,  —  the 
rumbling  of  wheels,  —  as  the  mail-coach,  outward 
bound,  rolls  heavily  off  the  pavement,  and  splashes 
through  the  mud  and  water  of  the  road.  All  night 
long  the  poor  passengers  will  be  tossed  to  and  fro  be 
tween  drowsy  watch  and  troubled  sleep,  and  will  dream 
of  their  own  quiet  beds,  and  awake  to  find  them 
selves  still  jolting  onward.  Happier  my  lot,  who  will 
straightway  hie  me  to  my  familiar  room,  and  toast 
myself  comfortably  before  the  fire,  musing  and  fit 
fully  dozing,  and  fancying  a  strangeness  in  such  sights 
as  all  may  see.  But  first  let  ine  gaze  at  this  solitary 
figure  who  comes  hitherward  with  a  tin  lantern,  which 
throws  the  circular  pattern  of  its  punched  holes  on  the 
ground  about  him.  He  passes  fearlessly  into  the  un 
known  gloom,  whither  I  will  not  follow  him. 

This  figure  shall  supply  me  with  a  moral,  where 
with,  for  lack  of  a  more  appropriate  one,  I  may  wind 
up  my  sketch.  He  fears  not  to  tread  the  dreary  path 
before  him,  because  his  lantern,  which  was  kindled  at 
the  fireside  of  his  home,  will  light  him  back  to  that 
same  fireside  again.  And  thus  we,  night  wanderers 
through  a  stormy  and  dismal  world,  if  we  bear  the 
lamp  of  Faith,  enkindled  at  a  celestial  fire,  it  will 
surely  lead  us  home  to  that  heaven  whence  its  radi 
ance  was  borrowed. 


ENDICOTT  AND  THE   RED   CROSS. 

AT  noon  of  an  autumnal  clay,  more  than  two  cen 
turies  ago,  the  English  colors  were  displayed  by  the 
standard-bearer  of  the  Salem  trainband,  which  had 
mustered  for  martial  exercise  under  the  orders  of 
John  Endicott.  It  was  a  period  when  the  religious 
exiles  were  accustomed  often  to  buckle  on  their  armor, 
and  practise  the  handling  of  their  weapons  of  war. 
Since  the  first  settlement  of  New  England,  its  pros 
pects  had  never  been  so  dismal.  The  dissensions 
between  Charles  the  First  and  his  subjects  were  then, 
and  for  several  years  afterwards,  confined  to  the  floor 
of  Parliament.  The  measures  of  the  King  and  min 
istry  were  rendered  more  tyrannically  violent  by  an 
opposition,  which  had  not  yet  acquired  sufficient  confi 
dence  in  its  own  strength  to  resist  royal  injustice  with 
the  sword.  The  bigoted  and  haughty  primate,  Laud, 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  controlled  the  religious 
affairs  of  the  realm,  and  was  consequently  invested 
with  powers  which  might  have  wrought  the  utter  ruin 
of  the  two  Puritan  colonies,  Plymouth  and  Massachu 
setts.  There  is  evidence  on  record  that  our  fore 
fathers  perceived  their  danger,  but  were  resolved  that 
their  infant  country  should  not  fall  without  a  struggle, 
even  beneath  the  giant  strength  of  the  King's  right 
arm. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times  when  the  folds  of 
the  English  banner,  with  the  Eed  Cross  in  its  field, 
were  flung  out  over  a  company  of  Puritans.  Their 


486  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

leader,  the  famous  Endicott,  was  a  man  of  stern  and 
resolute  countenance,  the  effect  of  which  was  height 
ened  by  a  grizzled  beard  that  swept  the  upper  portion 
of  his  breastplate.  This  piece  of  armor  was  so  highly 
polished  that  the  whole  surrounding  scene  had  its 
image  in  the  glittering  steel.  The  central  object  in 
the  mirrored  picture  was  an  edifice  of  humble  archi 
tecture  with  neither  steeple  nor  bell  to  proclaim  it — 
what  nevertheless  it  was  —  the  house  of  prayer.  A 
token  of  the  perils  of  the  wilderness  was  seen  in  the 
grim  head  of  a  wolf,  which  had  just  been  slain  within 
the  precincts  of  the  town,  and  according  to  the  regular 
mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed  on  the  porch 
of  the  meeting-house.  The  blood  was  still  plashing  on 
the  doorstep.  There  happened  to  be  visible,  at  the 
same  noontide  hour,  so  many  other  characteristics  of 
the  times  and  manners  of  the  Puritans,  that  we  must 
endeavor  to  represent  them  in  a  sketch,  though  far  less 
vividly  than  they  were  reflected  in  the  polished  breast 
plate  of  John  Endicott. 

In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edifice  appeared  that 
important  engine  of  Puritanic  authority,  the  whipping 
post  —  with  the  soil  around  it  well  trodden  by  the  feet 
of  evil  doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined.  At  one 
corner  of  the  meeting-house  was  the  pillory,  and  at  the 
other  the  stocks ;  and,  by  a  singular  good  fortune  for 
our  sketch,  the  head  of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected 
Catholic  was  grotesquely  incased  in  the  former  ma 
chine  ;  while  a  fellow-criminal,  who  had  boisterously 
quaffed  a  health  to  the  king,  was  confined  by  the  legs 
in  the  latter.  Side  by  side,  on  the  meeting-house  steps, 
stood  a  male  and  a  female  figure.  The  man  was  a 
tall,  lean,  haggard  personification  of  fanaticism,  bear- 
ing  on  his  breast  this  label,  —  A  WANTON  GOSPELLER 


ENDICOTT  AND    THE  RED   CROSS.        487 

- — which  betokened  that  he  had  dared  to  give  inter 
pretations  of  Holy  Writ  unsanctioned  by  the  infallible 
judgment  of  the  civil  and  religious  rulers.  His  aspect 
showed  no  lack  of  zeal  to  maintain  his  heterodoxies, 
even  at  the  stake.  The  woman  wore  a  cleft  stick 
on  her  tongue,  in  appropriate  retribution  for  having 
wagged  that  unruly  member  against  the  elders  of  the 
church  ;  and  her  countenance  and  gestures  gave  much 
cause  to  apprehend  that,  the  moment  the  stick  should 
be  removed,  a  repetition  of  the  offence  would  demand 
new  ingenuity  in  chastising  it. 

The  above-mentioned  individuals  had  been  sentenced 
to  undergo  their  various  modes  of  ignominy,  for  the 
space  of  one  hour  at  noonday.  But  among  the  crowd 
were  several  whose  punishment  would  be  life-long ; 
some,  whose  ears  had  been  cropped,  like  those  of  puppy 
dogs ;  others,  whose  cheeks  had  been  branded  with  the 
initials  of  their  misdemeanors ;  one,  with  his  nostrils 
slit  and  seared ;  and  another,  with  a  halter  about  his 
neck,  which  he  was  forbidden  ever  to  take  off,  or  to 
conceal  beneath  his  garments.  Metliinks  he  must 
have  been  grievously  tempted  to  affix  the  other  end  of 
the  rope  to  some  convenient  beam  or  bough.  There 
was  likewise  a  young  woman,  with  no  mean  share  of 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  was  to  wear  the  letter  A  on  the 
breast  of  her  gown,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  and 
her  own  children.  And  even  her  own  children  knew 
what  that  initial  signified.  Sporting  with  her  infamy, 
the  lost  and  desperate  creature  had  embroidered  the 
fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth,  with  golden  thread  and  the 
nicest  art  of  needlework ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  anything 
rather  than  Adulteress. 

Let  not  the  reader  argue,  from  any  of  these  evi- 


488  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dences  of  iniquity,  that  the  times  of  the  Puritans  were 
more  vicious  than  our  own,  when,  as  we  pass  along 
the  very  street  of  this  sketch,  we  discern  no  badge  of 
infamy  on  man  or  woman.  It  was  the  policy  of  our 
ancestors  to  search  out  even  the  most  secret  sins,  and 
expose  them  to  shame,  without  fear  or  favor,  in  the 
broadest  light  of  the  noonday  sun.  Were  such  the 
custom  now,  perchance  we  might  find  materials  for  a 
no  less  piquant  sketch  than  the  above. 

Except  the  malefactors  whom  we  have  described, 
and  the  diseased  or  infirm  persons,  the  whole  male 
population  of  the  town,  between  sixteen  years  and 
sixty,  were  seen  in  the  ranks  of  the  trainband.  A 
few  stately  savages,  in  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of 
the  primeval  Indian,  stood  gazing  at  the  spectacle. 
Their  flint-headed  arrows  were  but  childish  weapons 
compared  with  the  matchlocks  of  the  Puritans,  and 
would  have  rattled  harmlessly  against  the  steel  caps 
and  hammered  iron  breastplates  which  inclosed  each 
soldier  in  an  individual  fortress.  The  valiant  John 
Endicott  glanced  with  an  eye  of  pride  at  his  sturdy 
followers,  and  prepared  to  renew  the  martial  toils  of 
the  day. 

"  Come,  my  stout  hearts  !  "  quoth  he,  drawing  his 
sword.  "  Let  us  show  these  poor  heathen  that  we  can 
handle  our  weapons  like  men  of  might.  Well  for 
them,  if  they  put  us  not  to  prove  it  in  earnest ! " 

The  iron-breasted  company  straightened  their  line, 
and  each  man  drew  the  heavy  butt  of  his  matchlock 
close  to  his  left  foot,  thus  awaiting  the  orders  of  the 
captain.  But,  as  Endicott  glanced  right  and  left 
along  the  front,  he  discovered  a  personage  at  some 
little  distance  with  whom  it  behooved  him  to  hold  a 
parley.  It  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  wearing  a  black 


ENDICOTT  AND    THE   RED    CROSS.        489 

cloak  and  band,  and  a  high-crowned  hat,  beneath 
which  was  a  velvet  skull-cap,  the  whole  being  the  garb 
of  a  Puritan  minister.  This  reverend  person  bore  a 
staff  which  seemed  to  have  been  recently  cut  in  the 
forest,  and  his  shoes  were  bemired  as  if  he  had  been 
travelling  on  foot  through  the  swamps  of  the  wilder 
ness.  His  aspect  was  perfectly  that  of  a  pilgrim, 
heightened  also  by  an  apostolic  dignity.  Just  as  Endi- 
cott  perceived  him  he  laid  aside  his  staff,  and  stooped 
to  drink  at  a  bubbling  fountain  which  gushed  into  the 
sunshine  about  a  score  of  yards  from  the  corner  of  the 
meeting-house.  But,  ere  the  good  man  drank,  he 
turned  his  face  heavenward  in  thankfulness,  and  then, 
holding  back  his  gray  beard  with  one  hand,  he  scooped 
up  his  simple  draught  in  the  hollow  of  the  other. 

"  What,  ho !  good  Mr.  Williams,"  shouted  Endi- 
cott.  '*  You  are  welcome  back  again  to  our  town  of 
peace.  How  does  our  worthy  Governor  Winthrop? 
And  what  news  from  Boston?" 

4'The  Governor  hath  his  health,  worshipful  Sir," 
answered  Roger  Williams,  now  resuming  his  staff,  and 
drawing  near.  ib  And  for  the  news,  here  is  a  letter, 
which,  knowing  I  was  to  travel  hitherward  to-day,  his 
Excellency  committed  to  my  charge.  Belike  it  con 
tains  tidings  of  much  import ;  for  a  ship  arrived  yes 
terday  from  England." 

Mr.  Williams,  the  minister  of  Salem  and  of  course 
known  to  all  the  spectators,  had  now  reached  the  spot 
where  Endicott  was  standing  under  the  banner  of  his 
company,  and  put  the  Governor's  epistle  into  his  hand, 
The  broad  seal  was  impressed  with  ^^  inthrop's  coat  of 
arms.  Endicott  hastily  unclosed  the  letter  and  be°'an 

•/  O 

to  read,  while,  as  his  eye  passed  down  the  page,  a 
wrathful  change  came  over  his  manly  countenance. 


490  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

The  blood  glowed  through  it,  till  it  seemed  to  be  kind 
ling  with  an  internal  heat ;  nor  was  it  unnatural  to 
suppose  that  his  breastplate  would  likewise  become  red- 
hot  with  the  angry  fire  of  the  bosom  which  it  covered. 
Arriving  at  the  conclusion,  he  shook  the  letter  fiercely 
in  his  hand,  so  that  it  rustled  as  loud  as  the  flag  above 
his  head. 

"  Black  tidings  these,  Mr.  Williams,"  said  he ; 
"  blacker  never  came  to  New  England.  Doubtless  you 
know  their  purport  ?  " 

"  Yea,  truly,"  replied  Roger  Williams ;  "  for  the 
Governor  consulted,  respecting  this  matter,  with  my 
brethren  in  the  ministry  at  Boston ;  and  my  opinion 
was  likewise  asked.  And  his  Excellency  entreats  you 
by  me,  that  the  news  be  not  suddenly  noised  abroad, 
lest  the  people  be  stirred  up  unto  some  outbreak,  and 
thereby  give  the  King  and  the  Archbishop  a  handle 
against  us." 

"  The  Governor  is  a  wise  man  —  a  wise  man,  and 
a  meek  and  moderate,"  said  Endicott,  setting  his  teeth 
grimly.  "  Nevertheless,  I  must  do  according  to  my 
own  best  judgment.  There  is  neither  man,  woman, 
nor  child  in  New  England,  but  has  a  concern  as  dear 
as  life  in  these  tidings ;  and  if  John  Endicott' s  voice 
be  loud  enough,  man,  woman,  and  child  shall  hear 
them.  Soldiers,  wheel  into  a  hollow  square !  Ho, 
good  people !  Here  are  news  for  one  and  all  of 
you." 

The  soldiers  closed  in  around  their  captain ;  and  he 
and  Roger  Williams  stood  together  under  the  banner 
of  the  Red  Cross ;  while  the  women  and  the  aged  men 
pressed  forward,  and  the  mothers  held  up  their  chil 
dren  to  look  Endicott  in  the  face.  A  few  taps  of  the 
drum  gave  signal  for  silence  and  attention. 


ENDICOTT  AND    THE   RED    CROSS.        491 

"  Fellow-soldiers,  —  fellow-exiles,"  began  Endicott, 
speaking  under  strong  excitement,  yet  powerfully  re 
straining  it,  "  wherefore  did  ye  leave  your  native  coun 
try?  Wherefore,  I  say,  have  we  left  the  green  and 
fertile  fields,  the  cottages,  or,  perchance,  the  old  gray 
halls,  where  we  were  born  and  bred,  the  churchyards 
where  our  forefathers  lie  buried  ?  Wherefore  have  we 
come  hither  to  set  up  our  own  tombstones  in  a  wilder 
ness?  A  howling  wilderness  it  is !  The  wolf  and  the 
bear  meet  us  within  halloo  of  our  dwellings.  The  sav 
age  lieth  in  wait  for  us  in  the  dismal  shadow  of  the 
woods.  The  stubborn  roots  of  the  trees  break  our 
ploughshares,  when  we  would  till  the  earth.  Our 
children  cry  for  bread,  and  we  must  dig  in  the  sands 
of  the  sea-shore  to  satisfy  them.  Wherefore,  I  say 
again,  have  we  sought  this  country  of  a  rugged  soil 
and  wintry  sky  ?  Was  it  not  for  the  enjoyment  of  our 
civil  rights  ?  Was  it  not  for  liberty  to  worship  God 
according  to  our  conscience  ?  " 

"  Call  you  this  liberty  of  conscience  ? "  interrupted 
a  voice  on  the  steps  of  the  meeting-house. 

It  was  the  Wanton  Gospeller.  A  sad  and  quiet 
smile  flitted  across  the  mild  visage  of  Roger  Williams. 
But  Endicott,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  shook 
his  sword  wrathf  ally  at  the  culprit  —  an  ominous  gest 
ure  from  a  man  like  him. 

"What  hast  thou  to  do  with  conscience,  thou 
knave  ?  "  cried  he.  '•  I  said  liberty  to  worship  God, 
not  license  to  profane  and  ridicule  him.  Break  not  in 
upon  my  speech,  or  I  will  lay  thee  neck  and  heels 
till  this  time  to-morrow !  Hearken  to  me,  friends,  nor 
heed  that  accursed  rhapsodist.  As  I  was  saying,  we 
have  sacrificed  all  tilings,  and  have  come  to  a  land 
thereof  the  old  world  hath  scarcely  heard,  that  w« 


492  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

might  make  a  new  world  unto  ourselves,  and  painfully 
seek  a  path  from  hence  to  heaven.  But  what  think  ye 
now  ?  This  son  of  a  Scotch  tyrant  —  this  grandson 
of  a  Papistical  and  adulterous  Scotch  woman,  whose 
death  proved  that  a  golden  crown  doth  not  always 
save  an  anointed  head  from  the  block  " 

"  Nay,  brother,  nay,"  interposed  Mr.  Williams ; 
"  thy  words  are  not  meet  for  a  secret  chamber,  far  less 
for  a  public  street." 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Roger  Williams  !  "  answered  En- 
dicott,  imperiously.  "  My  spirit  is  wiser  than  thine 
for  the  business  now  in  hand.  I  tell  ye,  fellow-exiles, 
that  Charles  of  England,  and  Laud,  our  bitterest  per 
secutor,  arch-priest  of  Canterbury,  are  resolute  to  pur 
sue  us  even  hither.  They  are  taking  counsel,  saith 
this  letter,  to  send  over  a  governor-general,  in  whose 
breast  shall  be  deposited  all  the  law  and  equity  of  the 
land.  They  are  minded,  also,  to  establish  the  idola 
trous  forms  of  English  Episcopacy;  so  that,  when 
Laud  shall  kiss  the  Pope's  toe,  as  cardinal  of  Rome, 
he  may  deliver  New  England,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
into  the  power  of  his  master !  " 

A  deep  groan  from  the  auditors,  —  a  sound  of  wrath, 
as  well  as  fear  and  sorrow,  —  responded  to  this  intel 
ligence. 

"  Look  ye  to  it,  brethren,"  resumed  Endicott,  with 
increasing  energy.  "  If  this  king  and  this  arch-prelate 
have  their  will,  we  shall  briefly  behold  a  cross  on  the 
spire  of  this  tabernacle  which  we  have  builded,  and 
a  high  altar  within  its  walls,  with  wax  tapers  burning 
round  it  at  noonday.  We  shall  hear  the  sacring  bell, 
and  the  voices  of  the  Romish  priests  saying  the  mass. 
But  think  ye,  Christian  men,  that  these  abominations 
may  be  suffered  without  a  sword  drawn  ?  without  a 


./*. 


ENDICOTT  AND   THE  RED   CROSS.        493 

shot  fired  ?  without  blood  spilt,  yea,  on  the  very  stairs 
of  the  pulpit  ?  No,  —  be  ye  strong  of  hand  and  stout 
of  heart !  Here  we  stand  on  our  own  soil,  which  we 
have  bought  with  our  goods,  which  we  have  won  with 
our  swords,  which  we  have  cleared  with  our  axes, 
which  we  have  tilled  with  the  sweat  of  our  brows, 
which  we  have  sanctified  with  our  prayers  to  the  God 
that  brought  us  hither  !  Who  shall  enslave  us  here  ? 
What  have  we  to  do  with  this  mitred  prelate,  —  with 
this  crowned  king  ?  What  have  we  to  do  with  Eng= 
land?" 

Endicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances 
of  the  people,  now  full  of  his  own  spirit,  and  then 
turned  suddenly  to  the  standard-bearer,  who  stood 
close  behind  him. 

"  Officer,  lower  your  banner !  "  said  he. 

The  officer  obeyed  ;  and,  brandishing  his  sword, 
Endicott  thrust  it  through  the  cloth,  and,  with  his  left 
hand,  rent  the  Red  Cross  completely  out  of  the  banner. 
He  then  waved  the  tattered  ensign  above  his  head. 

ci  Sacrilegious  wretch  ! "  cried  the  high-churchman  in 
the  pillory,  unable  longer  to  restrain  himself,  *•  thou 
hast  rejected  the  symbol  of  our  holy  religion!" 

"  Treason,  treason  ! "  roared  the  royalist  in  the 
stocks.  "  He  hath  defaced  the  King's  banner !  " 

u  Before  God  and  man,  I  will  avouch  the  deed," 
answered  Endicott.  ;i  Beat  a  flourish,  drummer  !  — 
shout,  soldiers  and  people  !  —  in  honor  of  the  ensign 
of  New  England.  Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath  part 
in  it  now !  " 

With  a  cry  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanc 
tion  to  one  of  the  boldest  exploits  which  our  history 
records.  And  forever  honored  be  the  name  of  Endi 
cott!  We  look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages,  and 


494  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

recognize  in  the  rending  of  the  Red  Cross  from  New 
England's  banner  the  first  omen  of  that  deliverance 
which  our  fathers  consummated  after  the  bones  of  the 
stern  Puritan  had  lain  more  than  a  century  in  the 
dust. 


THE  LILY'S  QUEST. 

AX    APOLOGUE. 

Two  lovers,  once  upon  a  time,  had  planned  a  little 
summer-house,  in  the  f  onn  of  an  antique  temple,  which 
it  was  their  purpose  to  consecrate  to  all  manner  of  re 
fined  and  innocent  enjoyments.  There  they  woidd  hold 
pleasant  intercourse  with  one  another  and  the  circle  of 
their  familiar  friends ;  there  they  would  give  festivals 
of  delicious  fruit;  there  they  would  hear  lightsome 
music,  intermingled  with  the  strains  of  pathos  which 
make  joy  more  sweet ;  there  they  would  read  poetiy 
and  fiction,  and  permit  their  own  minds  to  flit  away 
in  day-dreams  and  romance  ;  there,  in  short  —  for  why 
should  we  shape  out  the  vague  sunshine  of  their  hopes? 
—  there  all  pure  delights  were  to  cluster  like  roses 
among  the  pillars  of  the  edifice,  and  blossom  ever  new 
and  spontaneously.  So,  one  breezy  and  cloudless  after 
noon,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias  Fay  set  out  upon  a 
ramble  over  the  wide  estate  which  they  were  to  possess 
together,  seeking  a  proper  site  for  their  Temple  of 
Happiness.  They  were  themselves  a  fair  and  happy 
spectacle,  fit  priest  and  priestess  for  such  a  shrine  ; 
although,  making  poetry  of  the  pretty  name  of  Lilias, 
Adam  Forrester  was  wont  to  call  her  LILY,  because 
her  form  was  as  fragile,  and  her  cheek  almost  as  pale. 

As  they  passed  hand  in  hand  down  the  avenue  of 
drooping  elms  that  led  from  the  portal  of  Lilias  Fay's 
paternal  mansion,  they  seemed  to  glance  like  winged 


496  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

creatures  through  the  strips  of  sunshine,  and  to  scatter 
brightness  where  the  deep  shadows  fell.  But  setting 
forth  at  the  same  time  with  this  youthful  pair,  there 
was  a  dismal  figure,  wrapped  in  a  black  velvet  cloak 
that  might  have  been  made  of  a  coffin  pall,  and  with  a 
sombre  hat  siich  as  mourners  wear  drooping  its  broad 
brim  over  his  heavy  brows.  Glancing  behind  them, 
the  lovers  well  knew  who  it  was  that  followed,  but 
wished  from  their  hearts  that  he  had  been  elsewhere, 
as  being  a  companion  so  strangely  unsuited  to  their 
joyous  errand.  It  was  a  near  relative  of  Lilias  Fay, 
an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Walter  Gascoigne,  who 
hal  long  labored  under  the  burden  of  a  melancholy 
spirit,  which  was  sometimes  maddened  into  absolute 
insanity,  and  always  had  a  tinge  of  it.  What  a  con 
trast  between  the  young  pilgrims  of  bliss  and  their 
unbidden  associate  !  They  looked  as  if  moulded  of 
heaven's  sunshine,  and  he  of  earth's  gloomiest  shade ; 
they  flitted  along  like  Hope  and  Joy  roaming  hand  in 
hand  through  life  ;  while  his  darksome  figure  stalked 
behind,  a  type  of  all  the  woful  influences  which  life 
could  fling  upon  them.  But  the  three  had  not  gone 
far  when  they  reached  a  spot  that  pleased  the  gentle 
Lily,  and  she  paused. 

"  What  sweeter  place  shall  we  find  than  this  ?  "  said 
she.  "  Why  should  we  seek  farther  for  the  site  of  our 
Temple?" 

It  was  indeed  a  delightful  spot  of  earth,  though 
undistinguished  by  any  very  prominent  beauties,  be 
ing  merely  a  nook  in  the  shelter  of  a  hill,  with  the 
prospect  of  a  distant  lake  in  one  direction,  and  of  a 
church  spire  in  another.  There  were  vistas  and  path 
ways  leading  onward  and  onward  into  the  green  wood 
lands,  and  vanishing  away  in  the  glimmering  shade, 


THE  LILY'S   QUEST.  497 

The  Temple,  if  erected  here,  would  look  towards  the 
west :  so  that  the  lovers  could  shape  all  sorts  of  mag 
nificent  dreams  out  of  the  purple,  violet,  and  gold  of 
the  sunset  sky ;  and  few  of  their  anticipated  pleasures 
were  dearer  than  this  sport  of  fantasy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  "  we  might  seek  all 
day  and  find  no  lovelier  spot.  We  will  build  our 
Temple  here." 

But  their  sad  old  companion,  who  had  taken  his 
stand  on  the  very  site  which  they  proposed  to  cover 
with  a  marble  floor,  shook  his  head  and  frowned ;  and 
the  young  man  and  the  Lily  deemed  it  almost  enough 
to  blight  the  spot,  and  desecrate  it  for  their  airy  Tem 
ple,  that  his  dismal  figure  had  thrown  its  shadow  there. 
He  pointed  to  some  scattered  stones,  the  remnants  of 
a  former  structure,  and  to  flowers  such  as  young  girls 
delight  to  nurse  in  their  gardens,  but  which  had  now 
relapsed  into  the  wild  simplicity  of  nature. 

"Not  here!  "  cried  old  Walter  Gascoigne.  "  Here, 
long  ago,  other  mortals  built  their  Temple  of  Happi 
ness.  Seek  another  site  for  yours  !  " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Lilias  Fay.  "  Have  any  ever 
planned  such  a  Temple  save  ourselves  ?  " 

"  Poor  child !  "-  said  her  gloomy  kinsman.  "  In 
one  shape  or  other,  every  mortal »  has  dreamed  your 
dream." 

Then  he  told  the  lovers  how,  not,  indeed,  an  antique 
Temple,  but  a  dwelling,  had  once  stood  there,  and  that 
a  dark-clad  guest  had  dwelt  among  its  inmates,  sitting 
forever  at  the  fireside,  and  poisoning  all  their  house 
hold  mirth.  Under  this  type.  Adam  Forrester  and 
Lilias  saw  that  the  old  man  spake  of  Sorrow.  He  told 
of  nothing  that  might  not  be  recorded  in  the  history 
of  almost  every  household  ;  and  yet  his  hearers  felt 


VOL.    I. 


498  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

as  if  no  sunshine  ought  to  fall  upon  a  spot  where 
human  grief  had  left  so  deep  a  stain  ;  or,  at  least, 
that  no  joyous  Temple  should  be  built  there. 

"  This  is  very  sad,"  said  the  Lily,  sighing. 

"  Well,  there  are  lovelier  spots  than  this,"  said 
Adam  Forrester,  soothingly,  —  "  spots  which  sorrow 
has  not  blighted." 

So  they  hastened  away,  and  the  melancholy  Gas- 
coigne  followed  them,  looking  as  if  he  had  gathered 
up  all  the  gloom  of  the  deserted  spot,  and  was  bearing 
it  as  a  burden  of  inestimable  treasure.  But  still  they 
rambled  on,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  a  rocky 
dell  through  the  midst  of  which  ran  a  streamlet  with 
ripple  and  foam,  and  a  continual  voice  of  inarticulate 
joy.  It  was  a  wild  retreat,  walled  on  either  side  with 
gray  precipices,  which  would  have  frowned  somewhat 
too  sternly,  had  not  a  profusion  of  green  shrubbery 
rooted  itself  into  their  crevices,  and  wreathed  glad 
some  foliage  around  their  solemn  brows.  But  the 
chief  joy  of  the  dell  was  in  the  little  stream,  which 
seemed  like  the  presence  of  a  blissful  child,  with  noth 
ing  earthly  to  do  save  to  babble  merrily  and  disport 
itself,  and  make  every  living  soul  its  playfellow,  and 
throw  the  sunny  gleams  of  its  spirit  upon  all. 

"  Here,  here  is  the  spot !  "  cried  the  two  lovers  with 
one  voice  as  they  reached  a  level  space  on  the  brink  of 
a  small  cascade.  "  This  glen  was  made  on  purpose 
for  our  Temple !  " 

"  And  the  glad  song  of  the  brook  will  be  always  in 
our  ears,"  said  Lilias  Fay. 

"  And  its  long  melody  shall  sing  the  bliss  of  our 
lifetime,"  said  Adam  Forrester, 

"Ye  must  build  no  Temple  here !  "  murmured  theii 
dismal  companion. 


THE  LILY'S   QUEST.  499 

And  there  again  was  the  old  lunatic,  standing  just 
on  the  spot  where  they  meant  to  rear  their  lightsome 
dome,  and  looking  like  the  embodied  symbol  of  some 
great  woe,  that,  in  forgotten  days,  had  happened  there. 
And,  alas  !  there  had  been  woe,  nor  that  alone.  A 
young  man,  more  than  a  hundred  years  before,  had 
lured  hither  a  girl  that  loved  him,  and  on  this  spot 
had  murdered  her,  and  washed  his  bloody  hands  in 
the  stream  which  sung  so  merrily.  And  ever  since 
the  victim's  death  shrieks  were  often  heard  to  echo 
between  the  cliffs. 

"  And  see  !  "  cried  old  Gascoigne,  "  is  the  stream 
yet  pure  from  the  stain  of  the  murderer's  hands  ?  " 

"  Methinks  it  has  a  tinge  of  blood,"  faintly  an 
swered  the  Lily ;  and  being  as  slight  as  the  gossamer, 
she  trembled  and  clung  to  her  lover*s  arm,  whispering, 
"  Let  us  flee  from  this  dreadful  vale !  " 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  as  cheerily  as 
he  could,  "  we  shall  soon  find  a  happier  spot." 

They  set  forth  again,  young  Pilgrims  on  that  quest 
which  millions  —  which  every  child  of  Earth  —  has 
tried  in  turn.  And  were  the  Lily  and  her  lover  to  be 
more  fortunate  than  all  those  millions  ?  For  a  long 
time  it  seemed  not  so.  The  dismal  shape  of  the  old 
lunatic  still  glided  behind  them ;  and  for  every  spot 
that  looked  lovely  in  their  eyes,  he  had  some  legend 
of  human  wrong  or  suffering,  so  miserably  sad  that 
his  auditors  could  never  afterwards  connect  the  idea 
of  joy  with  the  place  where  it  had  happened.  Here, 
a  heart-broken  woman,  kneeling  to  her  child,  had  been 
spurned  from  his  feet ;  here,  a  desolate  old  creature 
had  prayed  to  the  evil  one,  and  had  received  a  fiend 
ish  malignity  of  soul  in  answer  to  her  prayer  ;  here, 
a  new-born  infant,  sweet  blossom  of  life,  had  been 


500  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

found  dead,  with  the  impress  of  its  mother's  fingers 
round  its  throat ;  and  here,  under  a  shattered  oak,  two 
lovers  had  been  stricken  by  lightning,  and  fell  black 
ened  corpses  in  each  other's  arms.  The  dreary  Gas- 
coigne  had  a  gift  to  know  whatever  evil  and  lament 
able  thing  had  stained  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth ; 
and  when  his  funereal  voice  had  told  the  tale,  it  ap 
peared  like  a  prophecy  of  future  woe  as  well  as  a  tra 
dition  of  the  past.  And  now,  by  their  sad  demeanor, 
you  would  have  fancied  that  the  pilgrim  lovers  were 
seeking,  not  a  temple  of  earthly  joy,  but  a  tomb  for 
themselves  and  their  posterity. 

"  Where  in  this  world,"  exclaimed  Adam  Forrester, 
despondingly,  "  shall  we  build  our  Temple  of  Happi 
ness  ?  " 

"  Where  in  this  world,  indeed ! "  repeated  Lilias 
Fay;  and  being  faint  and  weary,  the  more  so  by  the 
heaviness  of  her  heart,  the  Lily  drooped  her  head  and 
sat  down  on  the  summit  of  a  knoll,  repeating,  "  Where 
in  this  world  shall  we  build  our  Temple  ?  " 

"  Ah !  have  you  already  asked  yourselves  that  ques 
tion  ?  "  said  their  companion,  his  shaded  features  grow 
ing  even  gloomier  with  the  smile  that  dwelt  on  them ; 
"  yet  there  is  a  place,  even  in  this  world,  where  ye 
may  build  it." 

While  the  old  man  spoke,  Adam  Forrester  and 
Lilias  had  carelessly  thrown  their  eyes  around,  and 
perceived  that  the  spot  where  they  had  chanced  to 
pause  possessed  a  quiet  charm,  which  was  well  enough 
adapted  to  their  present  mood  of  mind.  It  was  a 
small  rise  of  ground,  with  a  certain  regularity  of 
shape,  that  had  perhaps  been  bestowed  by  art ;  and  a 
group  of  trees,  which  almost  surrounded  it,  threw  their 
pensive  shadows  across  and  far  beyond,  although  some 


THE  LILY'S   QUEST.  501 

softened  glory  of  the  sunshine  found  its  way  there. 
The  ancestral  mansion,  wherein  the  lovers  would  dwell 
together,  appeared  on  one  side,  and  the  ivied  church, 
where  they  were  to  worship,  on  another.  Happening 
to  cast  their  eyes  on  the  ground  they  smiled,  yet  with 
a  sense  of  wonder,  to  see  that  a  pale  lily  was  growing 
at  their  feet. 

"  We  will  build  our  Temple  here,"  said  they,  simul 
taneously,  and  with  an  indescribable  conviction  that 
they  had  at  last  found  the  very  spot. 

Yet,  while  they  uttered  this  exclamation,  the  young 
man  and  the  Lily  turned  an  apprehensive  glance  at 
their  dreary  associate,  deeming  it  hardly  possible  that 
some  tale  of  earthly  affliction  should  not  make  those 
precincts  loathsome,  as  in  every  former  case.  The 
old  man  stood  just  behind  them,  so  as  to  form  the 
chief  figure  in  the  group,  with  his  sable  cloak  muffling 
the  lower  part  of  his  visage,  and  his  sombre  hat  over 
shadowing  his  brows.  But  he  gave  no  word  of  dissent 
from  their  purpose  ;  and  an  inscrutable  smile  was  ac 
cepted  by  the  lovers  as  a  token  that  here  had  been  no 
footprint  of  guilt  or  sorrow  to  desecrate  the  site  of 
their  Temple  of  Happiness. 

In  a  little  time  longer,  while  summer  was  still  in 
its  prime,  the  fairy  structure  of  the  Temple  arose  on 
the  summit  of  the  knoll,  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of 
the  trees,  yet  often  gladdened  with  bright  sunshine. 
It  was  built  of  white  marble,  with  slender  and  grace 
ful  pillars  supporting  a  vaulted  dome ;  and  beneath 
the  centre  of  this  dome,  upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  slab  of 
dark-veined  marble,  on  which  books  and  music  might 
be  strewn.  But  there  was  a  fantasy  among  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood  that  the  edifice  was  planned  after 
an  ancient  mausoleum  and  was  intended  for  a  tomb. 


502  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  that  the  central  slab  of  dark- veined  marble  was 
to  be  inscribed  with  the  names  of  buried  ones.  They 
doubted,  too,  whether  the  form  of  Lilias  Fay  could 
appertain  to  a  creature  of  this  earth,  being  so  very 
delicate,  and  growing  every  day  more  fragile,  so  that 
she  looked  as  if  the  summer  breeze  should  snatch  her 
up  and  waft  her  heavenward.  But  still  she  watched 
the  daily  growth  of  the  Temple  ;  and  so  did  old  Wal 
ter  Gascoigne,  who  now  made  that  spot  his  continual 
haunt,  leaning  whole  hours  together  on  his  staff,  and 
giving  as  deep  attention  to  the  work  as  though  it  had 
been  indeed  a  tomb.  In  due  time  it  was  finished,  and 
a  day  appointed  for  a  simple  rite  of  dedication. 

On  the  preceding  evening,  after  Adam  Forrester 
had  taken  leave  of  his  mistress,  he  looked  back  to 
wards  the  portal  of  her  dwelling,  and  felt  a  strange 
thrill  *  of  fear ;  for  he  imagined  that,  as  the  setting 
sunbeams  faded  from  her  figure,  she  was  exhaling 
away,  and  that  something  of  her  ethereal  substance 
was  withdrawn  with  each  lessening  gleam  of  light. 
With  his  farewell  glance  a  shadow  had  fallen  over 
the  portal  and  Lilias  was  invisible.  *His  foreboding 
spirit  deemed  it  an  omen  at  the  time,  and  so  it  proved ; 
for  the  sweet  earthly  form,  by  which  the  Lily  had 
been  manifested  to  the  world,  was  found  lifeless  the 
next  morning  in  the  Temple,  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  arms,  which  were  folded  upon  the  slab  of  dark- 
veined  marble.  The  chill  winds  of  the  earth  had  long 
since  breathed  a  blight  into  this  beautiful  flower,  so 
that  a  loving  hand  had  now  transplanted  it,  to  blos 
som  brightly  in  the  garden  of  Paradise. 

But  alas,  for  the  Temple  of  Happiness !  In  his  un 
utterable  grief,  Adam  Forrester  had  no  purpose  more 
at  heart  than  to  convert  this  Temple  of  many  delightr 


THE   LILY'S   QUEST.  503 

ful  hopes  into  a  tomb,  and  bury  his  dead  mistress 
there.  And  lo  !  a  wonder  !  Digging  a  grave  beneath 
the  Temple's  marble  floor,  the  sexton  found  no  virgin 
earth,  such  as  was  meet  to  receive  the  maiden's  dust, 
but  an  ancient  sepulchre,  in  which  were  treasured  up 
the  bones  of  generations  that  had  died  long  ago. 
Among  those  forgotten  ancestors  was  the  Lily  to  be 
laid.  And  when  the  funeral  procession  brought  Lilias 
thither  in  her  coffin,  they  beheld  old  Walter  Gascoigne 
standing  beneath  the  dome  of  the  Temple,  with  his 
cloak  of  pall  and  face  of  darkest  gloom ;  and  where- 
ever  that  figure  might  take  its  stand  the  spot  would 
seem  a  sepulchre.  He  watched  the  mourners  as  they 
lowered  the  coffin  down. 

"  And  so,"  said  he  to  Adam  Forrester,  with  the 
strange  smile  in  which  his  insanity  was  wont  to  gleam 
forth,  "  you  have  found  no  better  foundation  for  your 
happiness  than  on  a  grave !  " 

But  as  the  Shadow  of  Affliction  spoke,  a  vision  of 
Hope  and  Joy  had  its  birth  in  Adam's  mind,  even 
from  the  old  man's  taunting  words  ;  for  then  he  knew 
what  was  betokened  by  the  parable  in  which  the  Lily 
and  himself  had  acted ;  and  the  mystery  of  Life  and 
Death  was  opened  to  him. 

"  Jov!  iov !  '  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms  towards 

t,  J     «.•  i? 

heaven,  "  on  a  grave  be  the  site  of  our  Temple ;  and 
now  our  happiness  is  for  Eternity  !  *' 

With  those  words,  a  ray  of  sunshine  broke  through 
the  dismal  sky,  and  glimmered  down  into  the  sepul 
chre  ;  while,  at  the  same  moment,  the  shape  of  old 
Walter  Gascoigne  stalked  drearily  away,  because  his 
gloom,  symbolic  of  all  earthly  sorrow,  might  no  longer 
abide  there,  now  that  the  darkest  riddle  of  humanity 
was  read. 


FOOTPRINTS  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE. 

IT  must  be  a  spirit  much  unlike  my  own  which  can 
keep  itself  in  health  and  vigor  without  sometimes 
stealing  from  the  sultry  sunshine  of  the  world,  to 
plunge  into  the  cool  bath  of  solitude.  At  intervals, 
and  not  unf requent  ones,  the  forest  and  the  ocean  sum 
mon  me  —  one  with  the  roar  of  its  waves,  the  other 
with  the  murmur  of  its  boughs  —  forth  from  the 
haunts  of  men.  But  I  must  wander  many  a  mile  ere 
I  could  stand  beneath  the  shadow  of  even  one  prime 
val  tree,  much  less  be  lost  among  the  multitude  of 
hoary  trunks,  and  hidden  from  earth  and  sky  by  the 
mystery  of  darksome  foliage.  Nothing  is  within  my 
daily  reach  more  like  a  forest  than  the  acre  or  two  of 
woodland  near  some  suburban  farm-house.  When, 
therefore,  the  yearning  for  seclusion  becomes  a  neces 
sity  within  me,  I  am  drawn  to  the  sea-shore,  which 
extends  its  line  of  rude  rocks  and  seldom  trodden 
sands  for  leagues  around  our  bay.  Setting  forth  at 
my  last  ramble  on  a  September  morning,  I  bound  my 
self  with  a  hermit's  vow  to  interchange  no  thoughts 
with  man  or  woman,  to  share  no  social  pleasure,  but 
to  derive  all  that  day's  enjoyment  from  shore  and  sea 
and  sky,  —  from  my  soul's  communion  with  these,  and 
from  fantasies  and  recollections,  or  anticipated  reali 
ties.  Surely  here  is  enough  to  feed  a  human  spirit 
for  a  single  day.  Farewell,  then,  busy  world !  Til] 
your  evening  lights  shall  shine  along  the  street, — til] 
they  gleam  upon  my  sea-flushed  face  as  I  tread  home 


FOOTPRINTS  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.       505 

ward,  —  free   me  from   your   ties,  and  let  me  be  a 
peaceful  outlaw. 

Highways  and  cross  paths  are  hastily  traversed  ; 
and,  clambering  down  a  crag,  I  find  myself  at  the 
extremity  of  a  long  beach.  How  gladly  does  the 
spirit  leap  forth  and  suddenly  enlarge  its  sense  of 
being  to  the  full  extent  of  the  broad,  blue,  sunny 
deep  !  A  greeting  and  a  homage  to  the  Sea !  I  de 
scend  over  its  margin  and  dip  my  hand  into  the  wave 
that  meets  me,  and  bathe  my  brow.  That  far-resound 
ing  roar  is  Ocean's  voice  of  welcome.  His  salt  breath 
brings  a  blessing  along  with  it.  Now  let  us  pace  to 
gether —  the  reader's  fancy  arm-in-arm  with  mine  — 
this  noble  beach,  which  extends  a  mile  or  more  from 
that  craggy  promontory  to  yonder  rampart  of  broken 
rocks.  In  front,  the  sea ;  in  the  rear,  a  precipitous 
bank,  the  grassy  verge  of  which  is  breaking  away, 
year  after  year,  and  flings  down  its  tufts  of  verdure 
upon  the  barrenness  below.  The  beach  itself  is  a 
broad  space  of  sand,  brown  and  sparkling,  with  hardly 
any  pebbles  intermixed.  Near  the  water's  edge  there 
is  a  wet  margin",  which  glistens  brightly  in  the  sun 
shine,  and  reflects  objects  like  a  mirror ;  and  as  we 
tread  along  the  glistening  border,  a  dry  spot  flashes 
around  each  footstep,  but  grows  moist  again  as  we  lift 
our  feet.  In  some  spots  the.  sand  receives  a  complete 
impression  of  the  sole  —  square  toe  and  all ;  else 
where  it  is  of  such  marble  firmness  that  we  must 
stamp  heavily  to  leave  a  print  even  of  the  iron-shod 
heel.  Along  the  whole  of  this  extensive  beach  gam 
bols  the  surf  wave ;  now  it  makes  a  feint  of  dashing 
onward  in  a  fury,  yet  dies  away  with  a  meek  murmur, 
and  does  but  kiss  the  strand  ;  now,  after  many  such 
abortive  efforts,  it  rears  itself  up  in  an  unbroken  line, 


506  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

heightening  as  it  advances,  without  a  speck  of  foam 
on  its  green  crest.  With  how  fierce  a  roar  it  flings 
itself  forward,  and  rushes  far  up  the  beach  ! 

As  I  threw  my  eyes  along  the  edge  of  the  surf  I 
remember  that  I  was  startled,  as  Robinson  Crusoe 
might  have  been,  by  the  sense  that  human  life  was 
within  the  magic  circle  of  my  solitude.  Afar  off  in 
the  remote  distance  of  the  beach,  appearing  like  sea- 
nymphs  or  some  airier  things  such  as  might  tread 
upon  the  feathery  spray,  was  a  group  of  girls.  Hardly 
had  I  beheld  them  when  they  passed  into  the  shadow 
of  the  rocks  and  vanished.  To  comfort  myself  —  for 
truly  I  would  fain  have  gazed  a  while  longer  —  I  made 
acquaintance  with  a  flock  of  beach  birds.  These  little 
citizens  of  the  sea  and  air  preceded  me  by  about  a 
stone's  throw  along  the  strand,  seeking,  I  suppose,  for 
food  upon  its  margin.  Yet,  with  a  philosophy  which 
mankind  would  do  well  to  imitate,  they  drew  a  con 
tinual  pleasure  from  their  toil  for  a  subsistence.  The 
sea  was  each  little  bird's  great  playmate.  They 
chased  it  downward  as  it  swept  back,  and  again  ran 
up  swiftly  before  the  impending  wave,  which  some 
times  overtook  them  and  bore  them  off  their  feet. 
But  they  floated  as  lightly  as  one  of  their  own  feathers 
on  the  breaking  crest.  In  their  airy  flutterings  they 
seemed  to  rest  on  the  evanescent  spray.  Their  images 
— long-legged  little  figures,  with  gray  backs  and  snowy 
bosoms  —  were  seen  as  distinctly  as  the  realities  in 
the  mirror  of  the  glistening  strand.  As  I  advanced 
they  flew  a  score  or  two  of  yards,  and,  again  alighting, 
recommenced  their  dalliance  with  the  surf  wave  ;  and 
thus  they  bore  me  company  along  the  beach,  the  types 
of  pleasant  fantasies,  till,  at  its  extremity,  they  took 
wing  over  the  ocean  and  were  gone.  After  forming  a 


• 


FOOTPRINTS   ON  THE  SEA-SHORE.       507 

friendship  with  these  small  surf  spirits,  it  is  really 
worth  a  sigh  to  find  no  memorial  of  them  save  their 
multitudinous  little  tracks  in  the  sand. 

When  we  have  paced  the  length  of  the  beach  it  is 
pleasant  and  not  unprofitable  to  retrace  our  steps,  and 
recall  the  whole  mood  and  occupation  of  the  mind 
during  the  former  passage.  Our  tracks  being  all  dis 
cernible  will  guide  us  with  an  observing  consciousness 
through  every  unconscious  wandering  of  thought  and 
fancy.  Here  we  followed  the  surf  in  its  reflux  to 
pick  up  a  shell  which  the  sea  seemed  loath  to  relin 
quish.  Here  we  found  a  sea- weed,  with  an  immense 
brown  leaf,  and  trailed  it  behind  us  by  its  long  snake- 
like  stalk.  Here  we  seized  a  live  horseshoe  by  the  tail, 
and  counted  the  many  claws  of  the  queer  monster. 
Here  we  dug  into  the  sand  for  pebbles,  and  skipped 
them  upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  Here  we  wet 
our  feet  while  examining  a  jelly-fish  which  the  waves, 
having  just  tossed  it  up,  now  sought  to  snatch  away 
again.  Here  we  trod  along  the  brink  of  a  fresh-water 
brooklet  which  flows  across  the  beach,  becoming  shal 
lower  and  more  shallow,  till  at  last  it  sinks  into  the 
sand  and  perishes  in  the  effort  to  bear  its  little  tribute 
to  the  main.  Here  some  vagary  appears  to  have  be 
wildered  us  ;  for  our  tracks  go  round  and  round  and 
are  confusedly  intermingled,  as  if  we  had  found  a 
labyrinth  upon  the  level  beach.  And  here,  amid  our 
idle  pastime,  we  sat  down  upon  almost  the  only  stone 
that  breaks  the  surface  of  the  sand,  and  were  lost  in 
an  unlooked-for  and  overpowering  conception  of  the 
majesty  and  awfulness  of  the  great  deep.  Thus,  by 
tracking  our  footprints  in  the  sand,  we  track  our  own 
nature  in  its  wayward  course,  and  steal  a  glance  upon 
it,  when  it  never  dreams  of  being  so  observed.  Such 
glances  alwavs  make  us  wiser. 


508  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

This  extensive  beach  affords  room  for  another  pleas- 
ant  pastime.  With  your  staff  you  may  write  verses  — 
love  verses,  if  they  please  you  best  —  and  consecrate 
them  with  a  woman's  name.  Here,  too,  may  be  in 
scribed  thoughts,  feelings,  desires,  warm  outgushings 
from  the  heart's  secret  places,  which  you  would  not 
pour  upon  the  sand  without  the  certainty  that,  almost 
ere  the  sky  has  looked  upon  them,  the  sea  will  wash 
them  out.  Stir  not  hence  till  the  record  be  effaced. 
Now  —  for  there  is  room  enough  on  your  canvas  — 
draw  huge  faces  —  huge  as  that  of  the  Sphinx  on 
Egyptian  sands  —  and  fit  them  with  bodies  of  cor 
responding  immensity,  and  legs  which  might  stride 
half-way  to  yonder  island.  Child's  play  becomes  mag 
nificent  on  so  grand  a  scale.  But,  after  all,  the  most 
fascinating  employment  is  simply  to  write  your  name 
in  the  sand.  Draw  the  letters  gigantic,  so  that  two 
strides  may  barely  measure  them,  and  three  for  the 
long  strokes !  Gut  deep  that  the  record  may  be  per 
manent  !  Statesmen  and  warriors  and  poets  have 
spent  their  strength  in  no  better  cause  than  this.  Is 
it  accomplished  ?  Return  then  in  an  hour  or  two  and 
seek  for  this  mighty  record  of  a  name.  The  sea  will 
have  swept  over  it,  even  as  time  rolls  its  effacing  waves 
over  the  names  of  statesmen  and  warriors  and  poets. 
Hark,  the  surf  wave  laughs  at  you ! 

Passing  from  the  beach  I  begin  to  clamber  over  the 
crags,  making  my  difficult  way  among  the  ruins  of  a 
rampart  shattered  and  broken  by  the  assaults  of  a 
fierce  enemy.  The  rocks  rise  in  every  variety  of  atti 
tude  :  some  of  them  have  their  feet  in  the  foam,  and 
are  shagged  half-way  upward  with  sea-weed  ;  some 
have  been  hollowed  almost  into  caverns  by  the  un 
wearied  toil  of  the  sea,  which  can  afford  to  spend  cen- 


• 


FOOTPRINTS    ON   THE   SEA-SHORE.       509 

turies  in  wearing  away  a  rock,  or  even  polishing  a 
pebble.  One  huge  rock  ascends  in  monumental  shape, 
with  a  face  like  a  giant's  tombstone,  on  which  the  veins 
resemble  inscriptions,  but  in  an  unknown  tongue.  "We 
will  fancy  them  the  forgotten  characters  of  an  antedi 
luvian  race  ;  or  else  that  Nature's  own  hand  has  here 
recorded  a  mystery,  which,  could  I  read  her  language, 
would  make  mankind  the  wiser  and  the  happier.  How 
many  a  thing  has  troubled  me  with  that  same  idea  ! 
Pass  on  and  leave  it  unexplained.  Here  is  a  narrow 
avenue,  which  might  seem  to  have  been  hewn  through 
the  very  heart  of  an  enormous  crag,  affording  passage 
for  the  rising  sea  to  thunder  back  and  forth,  filling  it 
with  tumultuous  foam,  and  then  leaving  its  floor  of 
black  pebbles  bare  and  glistening.  In  this  chasm 
there  was  once  an  intersecting  vein  of  softer  stone, 
which  the  waves  have  gnawed  away  piecemeal,  while 
the  granite  walls  remain  entire  on  either  side.  How 
sharply,  and  with  what  harsh  clamor,  does  the  sea  rake 
back  the  pebbles,  as  it  momentarily  withdraws  into  its 
own  depths !  At  intervals  the  floor  of  the  chasm  is 
left  nearly  dry ;  but  anon,  at  the  outlet,  two  or  three 
great  waves  are  seen  struggling  to  get  in  at  once; 
two  hit  the  walls  athwart,  while  one  rushes  straight 
through,  and  all  three  thunder  as  if  with  rage  and 
triumph.  They  heap  the  chasm  with  a  snow-drift  of 
foam  and  spray.  While  watching  this  scene,  I  can 
never  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that  a  monster,  endowed 
with  life  and  fierce  energy,  is  striving  to  burst  his 
way  through  the  narrow  pass.  And  what  a  contrast, 
to  look  through  the  stormy  chasm,  and  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  calm  bright  sea  beyond  ! 

Many  interesting  discoveries  may  be  made  among 
these  broken  cliffs.     Once,  for  example,  I  found  a 


510  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dead  seal,  which  a  recent  tempest  had  tossed  into  the 
nook  of  the  rocks,  where  his  shaggy  carcass  lay  rolled 
in  a  heap  of  eel-grass,  as  if  the  sea-monster  sought  to 
hide  himself  from  my  eye.  Another  time,  a  shark 
seemed  on  the  point  of  leaping  from  the  surf  to  swal 
low  me ;  nor  did  I,  wholly  without  dread,  approach 
near  enough  to  ascertain  that  the  man-eater  had  al 
ready  met  his  own  death  from  some  fisherman  in  the 
bay.  In  the  same  ramble  I  encountered  a  bird  —  a 
large  gray  bird  —  but  whether  a  loon,  or  a  wild  goose, 
or  the  identical  albatross  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  was 
beyond  my  ornithology  to  decide.  It  reposed  so  natur 
ally  on  a  bed  of  dry  sea-weed,  with  its  head  beside  its 
wing,  that  I  almost  fancied  it  alive,  and  trod  softly 
lest  it  should  suddenly  spread  its  wings  skyward.  But 
the  sea-bird  would  soar  among  the  clouds  no  more,  nor 
ride  upon  its  native  waves,  so  I  drew  near  and  pulled 
out  one  of  its  mottled  tail-feathers  for  a  remembrance. 
Another  day,  I  discovered  an  immense  bone  wedged 
into  a  chasm  of  the  rocks ;  it  was  at  least  ten  feet 
long,  curved  like  a  cimeter,  bejewelled  with  barnacles 
and  small  shell-fish,  and  partly  covered  with  a  growth 
of  sea- weed.  Some  leviathan  of  former  ages  had  used 
this  ponderous  mass  as  a  jawbone.  Curiosities  of  a 
minuter  order  may  be  observed  in  a  deep  reservoir, 
which  is  replenished  with  water  at  every  tide,  but  be 
comes  a  lake  among  the  crags,  save  when  the  sea  is  at 
its  height.  At  the  bottom  of  this  rocky  basin  grow 
marine  plants,  some  of  which  tower  high  beneath  the 
water  and  cast  a  shadow  in  the  sunshine.  Small  fishes 
dart  to  and  fro,  and  hide  themselves  among  the  sea 
weed  :  there  is  also  a  solitary  crab,  who  appears  to 
lead  the  life  of  a  hermit,  communing  with  none  of  the 
other  denizens  of  the  place ;  and  likewise  several  five- 


FOOTPRINTS   ON   THE  SEA-SHORE.        511 

fingers  —  for  I  know  no  other  name  than  that  which 
children  give  them.  If  your  imagination  be  at  all  ac 
customed  to  such  freaks,  you  may  look  down  into  the 
depths  of  this  pool,  and  fancy  it  the  mysterious  depth 
of  ocean.  But  where  are  the  hulks  and  scattered  tim 
bers  of  sunken  ships  ?  —  where  the  treasures  that  old 
Ocean  hoards? — where  the  corroded  cannon?  —  where 
the  corpses  and  skeletons  of  seamen  who  went  down  in 
storm  and  battle  ? 

On  the  day  of  my  last  ramble  (it  was  a  September 
day,  yet  as  warm  as  summer),  what  should  I  behold 
as  I  approached  the  above  described  basin  but  three 
girls  sitting  on  its  margin,  and  —  yes,  it  is  veritably  so 
—  laving  their  snowy  feet  in  the  sunny  water !  These, 
these  are  the  warm  realities  of  those  three  visionary 
shapes  that  flitted  from  me  on  the  beach.  Hark !  their 
merry  voices  as  they  toss  up  the  water  with  their  feet ! 
They  have  not  seen  me.  I  must  shrink  behind  this 
rock  and  steal  away  again. 

In  honest  truth,  vowed  to  solitude  as  I  am,  there 
is  something  in  this  encounter  that  makes  the  heart 

O 

flutter  with  a  strangely  pleasant  sensation.  I  know 
these  girls  to  be  realities  of  flesh  and  blood,  yet, 
glancing  at  them  so  briefly,  they  mingle  like  kindred 
creatures  with  the  ideal  beings  of  my  mind.  It  is 
pleasant,  likewise,  to  gaze  down  from  some  high  crag, 
and  watch  a  group  of  children,  gathering  pebbles  and 
pearly  shells,  and  playing  with  the  surf,  as  with  old 
Ocean's  hoary  beard.  Nor  does  it  infringe  upon  my 
seclusion  to  see  yonder  boat  at  anchor  off  the  shore, 
swinging  dreamily  to  and  fro,  and  rising  and  sinking 
with  the  alternate  swell ;  while  the  crew  —  four  gen 
tlemen,  in  roundabout  jackets  —  are  busy  with  their 
fishing-lines.  But,  with  an  inward  antipathy  and  a 


512  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

headlong  flight,  do  I  eschew  the  presence  of  any  medi 
tative  stroller  like  myself,  known  by  his  pilgrim  staff, 
his  sauntering  step,  his  shy  demeanor,  his  observant 
yet  abstracted  eye.  From  such  a  man,  as  if  another 
self  had  scared  me,  I  scramble  hastily  over  the  rocks, 
and  take  refuge  in  a  nook  which  many  a  secret  hour 
has  given  me  a  right  to  call  my  own.  I  would  do 
battle  for  it  even  with  the  churl  that  should  produce 
the  title  deeds.  Have  not  my  musings  melted  into  its 
rocky  walls  and  sandy  floor,  and  made  them  a  portion 
of  myself  ? 

It  is  a  recess  in  the  line  of  cliffs,  walled  round  by  a 
rough,  high  precipice,  which  almost  encircles  and  shuts 
in  a  little  space  of  sand.  In  front,  the  sea  appears  aa 
between  the  pillars  of  a  portal.  In  the  rear,  the  preci 
pice  is  broken  and  intermixed  with  earth,  which  gives 
nourishment  not  only  to  clinging  and  twining  shrubs, 
but  to  trees,  that  gripe  the  rock  with  their  naked  roots, 
and  seem  to  struggle  hard  for  footing  and  for  soil 
enough  to  live  upon.  These  are  fir-trees;  but  oaks 
hang  their  heavy  branches  from  above,  and  throw 
down  acorns  on  the  beach,  and  shed  their  withering 
foliage  upon  the  waves.  At  this  autumnal  season  the 
precipice  is  decked  with  variegated  splendor  ;  trailing 
wreaths  of  scarlet  flaunt  from  the  summit  downward ; 
tufts  of  yellow-flowering  shrubs,  and  rose-bushes,  with 
their  reddened  leaves  and  glossy  seed  berries,  sprout 
from  each  crevice ;  at  every  glance,  I  detect  some  new 
light  or  shade  of  beauty,  all  contrasting  with  the  stern, 
gray  rock.  A  rill  of  water  trickles  down  the  cliff 
and  fills  a  little  cistern  near  the  base.  I  drain  it  at  a 
draught,  and  find  it  fresh  and  pure.  This  recess  shall 
be  my  dining  hall.  And  what  the  feast  ?  A  few  bis- 
Ruits  made  savory  by  soaking  them  in  sea- water,  a  tuft 


FOOTPRINTS   ON   THE  SEA-SHORE.       513 

of  samphire  gathered  from  the  beach,  and  an  apple  for 
the  dessert.  By  this  time  the  little  rill  has  filled  its 
reservoir  again ;  and,  as  I  quaff  it,  I  thank  God  more 
heartily  than  for  a  civic  banquet,  that  He  gives  me 
the  healthful  appetite  to  make  a  feast  of  bread  and 
water. 

Dinner  being  over,  I  throw  myself  at  length  upon 
the  sand,  and,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  let  my  mind 
disport  itself  at  will.  The  walls  of  this  my  hermitage 
have  no  tongue  to  tell  my  follies,  though  I  sometimes 
fancy  that  they  have  ears  to  hear  them,  and  a  soid  to 
sympathize.  There  is  a  magic  in  this  spot.  Dreams 
haunt  its  precincts  and  flit  around  me  in  broad  sun 
light,  nor  require  that  sleep  shall  blindfold  me  to  real 
objects  ere  these  be  visible.  Here  can  I  frame  a  story 
of  two  lovers,  and  make  their  shadows  live  before  me 
and  be  mirrored  in  the  tranquil  water,  as  they  tread 
along  the  sand,  leaving  no  footprints.  Here,  should  I 
will  it,  I  can  summon  up  a  single  shade,  and  be  myself 
her  lover.  Yes,  dreamer,  —  but  your  lonely  heart  will 
be  the  colder  for  such  fancies.  Sometimes,  too,  the 
Past  comes  back  and  finds  me  here,  and  in  her  train 
come  faces  which  were  gladsome  when  I  knew  them, 
yet  seem  not  gladsome  now.  Would  that  my  hiding- 
place  were  lonelier,  so  that  the  past  might  not  find 
me !  Get  ye  all  gone,  old  friends,  and  let  me  listen 
to  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  —  a  melancholy  voice,  but 
less  sad  than  yours.  Of  what  mysteries  is  it  telling  ? 
Of  sunken  ships  and  whereabouts  they  lie  ?  Of  'isl 
ands  afar  and  undiscovered,  whose  tawny  children  are 
unconscious  of  other  islands  and  of  continents,  and 
deem  the  stars  of  heaven  their  nearest  neighbors? 
Nothing  of  all  this.  What  then  ?  Has  it  talked  for 
so  many  ages  and  meant  nothing  all  the  while  ?  No ; 

YOL.  L  33 


514  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

for  those  ages  find  utterance  in  the  sea's  unchanging 
voice,  and  warn  the  listener  to  withdraw  his  interest 
from  mortal  vicissitudes,  and  let  the  infinite  idea  of 
eternity  pervade  his  soul.  This  is  wisdom ;  and,  there 
fore,  will  I  spend  the  next  half  hour  in  shaping  little 
boats  of  driftwood,  and  launching  them  on  voyages 
across  the  cove,  with  a  feather  of  a  sea-gull  for  a  sail. 
If  the  voice  of  ages  tell  me  true,  this  is  as  wise  an  oc 
cupation  as  to  build  ships  of  five  hundred  tons,  and 
launch  them  forth  upon  the  main,  bound  to  "far 
Cathay."  Yet,  how  would  the  merchant  sneer  at  me ! 
And,  after  all,  can  such  philosophy  be  true?  Me- 
thinks,  I  could  find  a  thousand  arguments  against  it. 
Well,  then,  let  yonder  shaggy  rock,  mid-deep  in  the 
surf  —  see  !  he  is  somewhat  wrathful,  —  he  rages  and 
roars  and  foams  —  let  that  tall  rock  be  my  antagonist, 
and  let  me  exercise  my  oratory  like  him  of  Athens, 
who  bandied  words  with  an  angry  sea  and  got  the 
victory.  My  maiden  speech  is  a  triumphant  one  ;  for 
the  gentleman  in  sea-weed  has  nothing  to  offer  in  re 
ply,  save  an  immitigable  roaring.  His  voice,  indeed, 
will  be  heard  a  long  while  after  mine  is  hushed.  Once 
more  I  shout  and  the  cliffs  reverberate  the  sound.  Oh, 
what  joy  for  a  shy  man  to  feel  himself  so  solitary,  that 
he  may  lift  his  voice  to  its  highest  pitch  without  haz 
ard  of  a  listener !  But,  hush  !  —  be  silent,  my  good 
friend  !  —  whence  comes  that  stifled  laughter  ?  It  was 
musical,  —  but  how  should  there  be  such  music  in  my 
solitude?  Looking  upwards,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of 
three  faces,  peeping  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  like 
angels  between  me  and  their  native  sky.  Ah,  fair 
girls,  you  may  make  yourselves  merry  at  my  eloquence, 
—  but  it  was  my  turn  to  smile  when  I  saw  your  white 
feet  in  the  pool !  Let  us  keep  each  other's  secrets. 


FOOTPRINTS  ON   THE  SEA-SHORE.        515 

The  sunshine  has  now  passed  from  my  hermitage, 
except  a  gleam  upon  the  sand  just  where  it  meets  the 
sea,  A  crowd  of  gloomy  fantasies  will  come  and 
haunt  me  if  I  tarry  longer  here  in  the  darkening 
twilight  of  these  gray  rocks.  This  is  a  dismal  place 
in  some  moods  of  the  mind.  Climb  we,  therefore,  the 
precipice,  and  pause  a  moment  on  the  brink,  gazing 
down  into  that  hollow  chamber  by  the  deep  where  we 
have  been,  what  few  can  be,  sufficient  to  our  own  pas 
time  —  yes,  sav  the  word  outright !  —  self-sufficient  to 
our  own  happiness.  How  lonesome  looks  the  recess 
now,  and  dreary  too  —  like  all  other  spots  where  hap 
piness  has  been !  There  lies  my  shadow  in  the  depart 
ing  sunshine  with  its  head  upon  the  sea,  I  will  pelt 
it  with  pebbles.  A  hit!  a  hit!  I  clap  my  hands 
in  triumph,  and  see !  my  shadow  clapping  its  unreal 
hands,  and  claiming  the  triumph  for  itself.  \\  hat  a 
simpleton  must  I  have  been  all  day,  since  my  own 
shadow  makes  a  mock  of  my  fooleries ! 

Homeward !  homeward !  It  is  time  to  hasten  home. 
It  is  time ;  it  is  time ;  for  as  the  sun  sinks  over  the 
western  wave,  the  sea  grows  melancholy,  and  the  surf 
has  a  saddened  tone.  The  distant  sails  appear  astray, 
and  not  of  earth,  in  their  remoteness  amid  the  desolate 
waste.  My  spirit  wanders  forth  afar,  but  finds  no 
resting-place  and  comes  shivering  back.  It  is  time 
that  I  were  hence.  But  grudge  me  not  the  day  that 
has  been  spent  in  seclusion,  which  yet  was  not  solitude, 
since  the  great  sea  has  been  my  companion,  and  the 
little  sea-birds  my  friends,  and  the  wind  has  told  me 
his  secrets,  and  airy  shapes  have  flitted  around  me 
in  my  hermitage.  Such  companionship  works  an 
effect  upon  a  man's  character,  as  if  he  had  been 
admitted  to  the  society  of  creatures  that  are  not 


516  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

mortal.  And  when,  at  noontide,  I  tread  the  crowded 
streets,  the  influence  of  this  day  will  still  be  felt ;  so 
that  I  shall  walk  among  men  kindly  and  as  a  brother, 
with  affection  and  sympathy,  but  yet  shall  not  melt 
into  the  indistinguishable  mass  of  human-kind.  I  shall 
think  my  own  thoughts,  and  feel  my  own  emotions, 
and  possess  my  individuality  unviolated. 

But  it  is  good,  at  the  eve  of  such  a  day,  to  feel  and 
know  that  there  are  men  and  women  in  the  world. 
That  feeling  and  that  knowledge  are  mine  at  this 
moment ;  for,  on  the  shore  far  below  me,  the  fishing- 
party  have  landed  from  their  skiff,  and  are  cooking 
their  scaly  prey  by  a  fire  of  driftwood,  kindled  in  the 
angle  of  two  rude  rocks.  The  three  visionary  girls 
are  likewise  there.  In  the  deepening  twilight,  while 
the  surf  is  dashed  near  their  hearth,  the  ruddy  gleam 
of  the  fire  throws  a  strange  air  of  comfort  over  the 
wild  cove,  bestrewn  as  it  is  with  pebbles  and  sea-weed, 
and  exposed  to  the  "melancholy  main."  Moreover, 
as  the  smoke  climbs  up  the  precipice,  it  brings  with  it 
a  savory  smell  from  a  pan  of  fried  fish  and  a  black 
kettle  of  chowder,  and  reminds  me  that  my  dinner  was 
nothing  but  bread  and  water,  and  a  tuft  of  samphire 
and  an  apple.  Methinks  the  party  might  find  room 
for  another  guest  at  that  flat  rock  which  serves  them 
for  a  table ;  and  if  spoons  be  scarce,  I  could  pick  up 
a  clamshell  on  the  beach.  They  see  me  now  ;  and  — 
the  blessing  of  a  hungry  man  upon  him !  —  one  of 
them  sends  up  a  hospitable  shout  —  halloo,  Sir  Soli 
tary  !  come  down  and  sup  with  us !  The  ladies  wave 
their  handkerchiefs.  Can  I  decline  ?  No  ;  and  be  it 
owned,  after  all  my  solitary  joys,  that  this  is  the  sweet 
est  moment  of  a  Day  by  the  Sea-Shore. 


EDWARD   FAXE'S   ROSEBUD. 

THERE  is  hardly  a  more  difficult  exercise  of  fancy 
than,  while  gazing  at  a  figure  of  melancholy  age,  to 
recreate  its  youth,  and,  without  entirely  obliterating 
the  identity  of  form  and  features,  to  restore  those 
graces  which  time  has  snatched  away.  Some  old 
people,  especially  women,  so  age-worn  and  woful  are 
they,  seem  never  to  have  been  young  and  gay.  It  is 
easier  to  conceive  that  such  gloomy  phantoms  were 
sent  into  the  world  as  withered  and  decrepit  as  wre 
behold  them  now,  with  sympathies  only  for  pain  and 
grief,  to  watch  at  death-beds  and  weep  at  funerals. 
Even  the  sable  garments  of  their  widowhood  appear 
essential  to  their  existence ;  all  their  attributes  com 
bine  to  render  them  darksome  shadows,  creeping 
strangely  amid  the  sunshine  of  human  life.  Yet  it  is 
no  unprofitable  task  to  take  one  of  these  doleful  creat 
ures,  and  set  fancy  resolutely  at  work  to  brighten  the 
dim  eye,  and  darken  the  silvery  locks,  and  paint  the 
ashen  cheek  with  rose  color,  and  repair  the  shrunken 
and  crazy  form,  till  a  dewy  maiden  shall  be  seen  in 
the  old  matron's  elbow-chair.  The  miracle  being 
wrought,  then  let  the  years  roll  back  again,  each  sad 
der  than  the  last,  and  the  whole  weight  of  age  and 
sorrow  settle  down  upon  the  youthful  figure.  Wrin 
kles  and  furrows,  the  handwriting  of  Time,  may  thus 
be  deciphered,  and  found  to  contain  deep  lessons  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Such  profit  might  be  derived 
by  a  skilful  observer  from  my  much-respected  friend, 


518  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  Widow  Toothaker,  a  nurse  of  great  repute,  who 
has  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  sick-chambers  and 
dying  breaths  these  forty  years. 

See !  she  sits  cowering  over  her*  lonesome  hearth, 
with  her  gown  and  upper  petticoat  drawn  upward, 
gathering  thriftly  into  her  person  the  whole  warmth 
of  the  fire,  which,  now  at  nightfall,  begins  to  dissi 
pate  the  autumnal  chill  of  her  chamber.  The  blaze 
quivers  capriciously  in  front,  alternately  glimmering 
into  the  deepest  chasms  of  her  wrinkled  visage,  and 
then  permitting  a  ghostly  dimness  to  mar  the  outlines 
of  her  venerable  figure.  And  Nurse  Toothaker  holds 
a  teaspoon  in  her  right  hand,  with  which  to  stir  up 
the  contents  of  a  tumbler  in  her  left,  whence  steams 
a  vapory  fragrance,  abhorred  of  temperance  societies. 
Now  she  sips  —  now  stirs  — now  sips  again.  Her  sad 
old  heart  has  need  to  be  revived  by  the  rich  infusion  of 
Geneva,  which  is  mixed  half  and  half  with  hot  water, 
in  the  tumbler.  All  day  long  she  has  been  sitting 
by  a  death-pillow,  and  quitted  it  for  her  home  only 
when  the  spirit  of  her  patient  left  the  clay  and  went 
homeward  too.  But  now  are  her  melancholy  medita 
tions  cheered,  and  her  torpid  blood  warmed,  and  her 
shoulders  lightened  of  at  least  twenty  ponderous  years, 
by  a  draught  from  the  true  Fountain  of  Youth  in  a 
case  bottle.  It  is  strange  that  men  should  deem  that 
fount  a  fable,  when  its  liquor  fills  more  bottles  than 
the  congress  water !  Sip  it  again,  good  nurse,  and  see 
whether  a  second  draught  will  not  take  off  another 
score  of  years,  and  perhaps  ten  more,  and  show  us, 
in  your  high-backed  chair,  the  blooming  damsel  who 
plighted  troths  with  Edward  Fane.  Get  you  gone, 
Age  and  Widowhood  !  Come  back,  un wedded  Youth! 
But,  alas !  the  charm  will  not  work.  In  spite  of  fancy's 


EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD.  519 

most  potent  spell,  I  can  see  only  an  old  dame  cower 
ing  over  the  fire,  a  picture  of  decay  and  desolation, 
while  the  November  blast  roars  at  her  in  the  chimney, 
and  fitful  showers  rush  suddenly  against  the  window. 

Yet  there  was  a  time  when  Rose  Graf  ton  —  such 
was  the  pretty  maiden  name  of  Nurse  Toothaker  — 
possessed  beauty  that  would  have  gladdened  this  dim 
and  dismal  chamber  as  with  sunshine.  It  won  for  her 
the  heart  of  Edward  Fane,  who  has  since  made  so 
great  a  figure  in  the  world  and  is  now  a  grand  old 
gentleman,  with  powdered  hair,  and  as  gouty  as  a 
lord.  These  early  lovers  thought  to  have  walked  hand 
in  hand  through  life.  They  had  wept  together  for 
Edward's  little  sister  Mary,  whom  Rose  tended  in  her 
sickness,  partly  because  she  was  the  sweetest  child 
that  ever  lived  or  died,  but  more  for  love  of  him.  She 
was  but  three  years  old.  Being  such  an  infant,  Death 
could  not  embody  his  terrors  in  her  little  corpse  ;  nor 
did  Rose  fear  to  touch  the  dead  child's  brow,  though 
chill,  as  she  curled  the  silken  hair  around  it,  nor  to 
take  her  tiny  hand  and  clasp  a  flower  within  its  fin 
gers.  Afterward,  when  she  looked  through  the  pane 
of  glass  in  the  coffin  lid,  and  beheld  Mary's  face,  it 
seemed  not  so  much  like  death,  or  life,  as  like  a  wax 
work,  wrought  into  the  perfect  image  of  a  child  asleep, 
and  dreaming  of  its  mother's  smile.  Rose  thought 
her  too  fair  a  thing  to  be  hidden  in  the  grave,  and 
wondered  that  an  angel  did  not  snatch  up  little  Mary's 
coffin,  and  bear  the  slumbering  babe  to  heaven,  and 
bid  her  wake  immortal.  But  when  the  sods  were  laid 
on  little  Mary,  the  heart  of  Rose  was  troubled.  She 
shuddered  at  the  fantasy,  that,  in  grasping  the  child's 
cold  fingers,  her  virgin  hand  had  exchanged  a  first 
greeting  with  mortality,  and  could  never  lose  the 


520  TWICE-TOLD   TALES 

earthly  taint.  How  many  a  greeting  since !  But  as 
yet,  she  was  a  fair  young  girl,  with  the  dew-drops  of 
fresh  feeling  in  her  bosom ;  and  instead  of  Rose,  which 
seemed  too  mature  a  name  for  her  half-opened  beauty, 
her  lover  called  her  Rosebud. 

The  rosebud  was  destined  never  to  bloom  for  Ed 
ward  Fane.  His  mother  was  a  rich  and  haughty  dame 
with  all  the  aristocratic  prejudices  of  colonial  times. 
She  scorned  Rose  Grafton's  humble  parentage,  and 
caused  her  son  to  break  his  faith,  though,  had  she  let 
him  choose,  he  would  have  prized  his  Rosebud  above 
the  richest  diamond.  The  lovers  parted,  and  have 
seldom  met  again.  Both  may  have  visited  the  same 
mansions,  but  not  at  the  same  time ;  for  one  was  bid 
den  to  the  festal  hall,  and  the  other  to  the  sick-cham 
ber  ;  he  was  the  guest  of  Pleasure  and  Prosperity,  and 
she  of  Anguish.  Rose,  after  their  separation,  was 
long  secluded  within  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  Toothaker, 
whom  she  married  with  the  revengeful  hope  of  break 
ing  her  false  lover's  heart.  She  went  to  her  bride 
groom's  arms  with  bitterer  tears,  they  say,  than  young 
girls  ought  to  shed  at  the  threshold  of  the  bridal 
chamber.  Yet,  though  her  husband's  head  was  getting 
gray,  and  his  heart  had  been  chilled  with  an  autumnal 
frost,  Rose  soon  began  to  love  him,  and  wondered  at 
her  own  conjugal  affection.  He  was  all  she  had  to 
love ;  there  were  no  children. 

In  a  year  or  two,  poor  Mr.  Toothaker  was  visited 
with  a  wearisome  infirmity,  which  settled  in  his  joints, 
and  made  him  weaker  than  a  child.  He  crept  forth 
about  his  business,  and  came  home  at  dinner  time  and 
eventide,  not  with  the  manly  tread  that  gladdens  a 
wife's  heart,  but  slowly,  feebly,  jotting  down  each  dull 
footstep  with  a  melancholy  dub  of  his  staff.  We  must 


EDWARD   FANE'S  ROSEBUD.  521 

pardon  his  pretty  wife,  if  she  sometimes  blushed  to 
own  him.  Her  visitors,  when  they  heard  him  coming, 
looked  for  the  appearance  of  some  old,  old  man ;  but 
he  dragged  his  nerveless  limbs  into  the  parlor  —  and 
there  was  Mr.  Toothaker !  The  disease  increasing, 
he  never  went  into  the  sunshine,  save  with  a  staff  in 
his  right  hand  and  his  left  on  his  wife's  shoulder, 
bearing  heavily  downward,  like  a  dead  man's  hand. 
Thus,  a  slender  woman,  still  looking  maiden-like,  she 
supported  his  tall,  broad-chested  frame  along  the  path 
way  of  their  little  garden,  and  plucked  the  roses  for 
her  gray-haired  husband,  and  spoke  soothingly,  as  to 
an  infant.  His  mind  was  palsied  with  his  body ;  its 
utmost  energy  was  peevishness.  In  a  few  months 
more,  she  helped  him  up  the  staircase,  with  a  pause  at 
every  step,  and  a  longer  one  upon  the  landing-place, 
and  a  heavy  glance  behind,  as  he  crossed  the  threshold 
of  his  chamber.  He  knew,  poor  man,  that  the  pre 
cincts  of  those  four  walls  would  thenceforth  be  his 
world  —  his  world,  his  home,  his  tomb  —  at  once  a 
dwelling  and  a  burial-place,  till  he  were  borne  to  a 
darker  and  a  narrower  one.  But  Rose  was  with  him 
in  the  tomb.  He  leaned  upon  her  in  his  daily  passage 
from  the  bed  to  the  chair  by  the  fireside,  and  back 
again  from  the  weary  chair  to  the  joyless  bed  —  his 
bed  and  hers  —  their  marriage-bed;  till  even  this 
short  journey  ceased,  and  his  head  lay  all  day  upon 
the  pillow,  and  hers  all  night  beside  it.  How  long 
poor  Mr.  Toothaker  was  kept  in  misery!  Death 
seemed  to  draw  near  the  door,  and  often  to  lift  the 
latch,  and  sometimes  to  thrust  his  ugly  skull  into  the 
chamber,  nodding  to  Rose,  and  pointing  at  her  hus 
band,  but  still  delayed  to  enter.  fc'This  bedridden 
nretch  cannot  escape  ine  !  "  quoth  Death.  "I  will  go 


522  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

fortli  and  run  a  race  with  the  swift,  and  fight  a  battle 
with  the  strong,  and  come  back  for  Toothaker  at  my 
leisure  !  "  Oh,  when  the  deliverer  came  so  near,  in  the 
dull  anguish  of  her  worn-out  sympathies,  did  she  never 
long  to  cry,  "  Death,  come  in  !  " 

But,  no !  We  have  no  right  to  ascribe  such  a  wish 
to  our  friend  Rose.  She  never  failed  in  a  wife's  duty 
to  her  poor  sick  husband.  She  murmured  not,  though 
a  glimpse  of  the  sunny  sky  was  as  strange  to  her  as 
him,  nor  answered  peevishly,  though  his  complaining 
accents  roused  her  from  her  sweetest  dream,  only  to 
share  his  wretchedness.  He  knew  her  faith,  yet  nour 
ished  a  cankered  jealousy ;  and  when  the  slow  disease 
had  chilled  all  his  heart,  save  one  lukewarm  spot, 
which  Death's  frozen  fingers  were  searching  for,  his 
last  words  were :  "  What  would  my  Rose  have  done 
for  her  first  love,  if  she  has  been  so  true  and  kind  to 
a  sick  old  man  like  me ! "  And  then  his  poor  soul 
crept  away,  and  left  the  body  lifeless,  though  hardly 
more  so  than  for  years  before,  and  Rose  a  widow, 
though  in  truth  it  was  the  wedding-night  that  wid 
owed  her.  She  felt  glad,  it  must  be  owned,  when  Mr. 
Toothaker  was  buried,  because  his  corpse  had  retained 
such  a  likeness  to  the  man  half  alive,  that  she  heark 
ened  for  the  sad  murmur  of  his  voice,  bidding  her 
shift  his  pillow.  But  all  through  the  next  winter, 
though  the  grave  had  held  him  many  a  month,  she 
fancied  him  calling  from  that  cold  bed,  "  Rose !  Rose  I 
come  put  a  blanket  on  my  feet ! " 

So  now  the  Rosebud  was  the  Widow  Toothaker. 
Her  troubles  had  come  early,  and,  tedious  as  they 
seemed,  had  passed  before  all  her  bloom  was  fled. 
She  was  still  fair  enough  to  captivate  a  bachelor,  or, 
with  a  widow's  cheerful  gravity,  she  might  have  won 


EDWARD  FANE'S   ROSEBUD.  523 

a  widower,  stealing  into  his  heart  in  the  very  guise  of 
his  dead  wife.  But  the  Widow  Toothaker  had  no 
such  projects.  By  her  watchings  and  continual  cares 
her  heart  had  become  knit  to  her  first  husband  with 
a  constancy  which  changed  its  very  nature,  and  made 
her  love  him  for  his  infirmities,  and  infirmity  for  his 
sake.  When  the  palsied  old  man  was  gone,  even  her 
early  lover  could  not  have  supplied  his  place.  She 
had  dwelt  in  a  sick-chamber,  and  been  the  companion 
of  a  half -dead  wretch,  till  she  could  scarcely  breathe  in 
a  free  air,  and  felt  ill  at  ease  with  the  healthy  and 
the  happy.  She  missed  the  fragrance  of  the  doctor's 
stuff .  She  walked  the  chamber  with  a  noiseless  foot 
fall.  If  visitors  came  in  she  spoke  in  soft  and  sooth 
ing  accents,  and  was  startled  and  shocked  by  their 
loud  voices.  Often,  in  the  lonesome  evening,  she 
looked  timorously  from  the  fireside  to  the  bed,  with  al 
most  a  hope  of  recognizing  a  ghastly  face  upon  the  pil 
low.  Then  went  her  thoughts  sadly  to  her  husband's 
grave.  If  one  impatient  throb  had  wronged  him  in 
his  lifetime,  —  if  she  had  secretly  repined  because 
her  buoyant  youth  was  imprisoned  with  his  torpid  age, 

if  ever,  while  slumbering  beside  him,  a  treacherous 

dream  had  admitted  another  into  her  heart,  —  yet  the 
sick  man  had  been  preparing  a  revenge  which  the 
dead  now  claimed.  On  his  painful  pillow  he  had  cast 
a  spell  around  her  ;  his  groans  and  misery  had  proved 
more  captivating  charms  than  gayety  and  youthful 
grace;  in  his  semblance  Disease  itself  had  won  the 
Rosebud  for  a  bride  ;  nor  could  his  death  dissolve  the 
nuptials.  By  that  indissoluble  bond  she  had  gained  a 
home  in  every  sick-chamber,  and  nowhere  else :  there 
were  her  brethren  and  sisters ;  thither  her  husband 
summoned  her  with  that  voice  which  had  seemed  t« 


524  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

issue  from  the  grave  of  Toothaker.     At  length  she 
recognized  her  destiny. 

We  have  beheld  her  as  the  maid,  the  wife,  the 
widow ;  now  we  see  her  in  a  separate  and  insulated 
character ;  she  was,  in  all  her  attributes,  Nurse  Tooth 
aker.  And  Nurse  Toothaker  alone,  with  her  own 
shrivelled  lips,  could  make  known  her  experience  in 
that  capacity.  What  a  history  might  she  record  of 
the  great  sicknesses  in  which  she  has  gone  hand  in 
hand  with  the  exterminating  angel !  She  remembers 
when  the  small-pox  hoisted  a  red  banner  on  almost 
every  house  along  the  street.  She  has  witnessed  when 
the  typhus  fever  swept  off  a  whole  household,  young 
and  old,  all  but  a  lonely  mother,  who  vainly  shrieked 
to  follow  her  last  loved  one.  Where  would  be  Death's 
triumph,  if  none  lived  to  weep  ?  She  can  speak  of 
strange  maladies  that  have  broken  out,  as  if  sponta 
neously,  but  were  found  to  have  been  imported  from 
foreign  lands,  with  rich  silks  and  other  merchandise, 
the  costliest  portion  of  the  cargo.  And  once,  she  rec 
ollects,  the  people  died  of  what  was  considered  a  new 
pestilence,  till  the  doctors  traced  it  to  the  ancient 
grave  of  a  young  girl,  who  thus  caused  many  deaths 
a  hundred  years  after  her  own  burial.  Strange,  that 
such  black  mischief  should  lurk  in  a  maiden's  grave ! 
She  loves  to  tell  how  strong  men  fight  with  fiery 
fevers,  utterly  refusing  to  give  up  their  breath ;  and 
how  consumptive  virgins  fade  out  of  the  world, 
scarcely  reluctant,  as  if  their  lovers  were  wooing 
them  to  a  far  country.  Tell  us,  thou  fearful  woman  ! 
tell  us  the  death  secrets !  Fain  would  I  search  out  the 
meaning  of  words,  faintly  gasped  with  intermingled 
sobs  and  broken  sentences,  half  audibly  spoken  be 
tween  earth  and  the  judgment  seat ! 


EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD.  525 

An  awful  woman !  She  is  the  patron  saint  of  young 
physicians,  and  the  bosom  friend  of  old  ones.  In 
the  mansions  where  she  enters,  the  inmates  provide 
themselves  black  garments ;  the  coffin  maker  follows 
her ;  and  the  bell  tolls  as  she  comes  away  from  the 
threshold.  Death  himself  has  met  her  at  so  many  a 
bedside,  that  he  puts  forth  his  bony  hand  to  greet 
Nurse  Toothaker.  She  is  an  awful  woman  !  And, 
oh!  is  it  conceivable,  that  this  handmaid  of  human 
infirmity  and  affliction  —  so  darkly  stained,  so  thor 
oughly  imbued  with  all  that  is  saddest  in  the  doom  of 
mortals  —  can  ever  again  be  bright  and  gladsome, 
even  though  bathed  in  the  sunshine  of  eternity  ?  By 
her  long  communion  with  woe  has  she  not  forfeited 
her  inheritance  of  immortal  joy  ?  Does  any  germ  of 
bliss  survive  within  her? 

Hark  !  —  an  eager  knocking  at  Nurse  Toothaker's 
door.  She  starts  from  her  drowsy  reverie,  sets  aside 
the  empty  tumbler  and  teaspoon,  and  lights  a  lamp 
at  the  dim  embers  of  the  fire.  Rap,  rap,  rap  !  again  ; 
and  she  hurries  aclown  the  staircase,  wondering  which 
of  her  friends  can  be  at  death's  door  now,  since  there 
is  such  an  earnest  messenger  at  Nurse  Toothaker's. 
Again  the  peal  resounds,  just  as  her  hand  is  on  the 
lock.  "  Be  quick,  Nurse  Toothaker !  "  cries  a  man  on 
the  doorsteps ;  "  old  General  Fane  is  taken  with  the 
gout  in  his  stomach,  and  has  sent  for  you  to  watch  by 
his  death-bed.  Make  haste,  for  there  is  no  time  to 
lose  !  "  "  Fane  I  Edward  Fane  !  And  has  he  sent  for 
me  at  last  ?  I  am  ready  !  I  will  get  on  my  cloak 
and  begone.  So,"  adds  the  sable-gowned,  ashen-vis- 
aged,  funereal  old  figure,  u  Edward  Fane  remembers 
his  Rosebud !  " 

Our  question  is  answered.     There  is  a  germ  of  bliss 


526  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

within  her.  Her  long-hoarded  constancy  —  her  mem- 
ory  of  the  bliss  that  was  —  remaining  amid  the  gloom 
of  her  after  life  like  a  sweet-smelling  flower  in  a  cof 
fin,  is  a  symbol  that  all  may  be  renewed.  In  some 
happier  clime  the  Rosebud  may  revive  again  with  all 
the  dewdrops  in  its  bosom. 


• 


THE   THREEFOLD   DESTINY. 

A   FAIRY    LEGEND. 

I  HAVE  sometimes  produced  a  singular  and  not  un- 
pleasing  effect,  so  far  as  my  own  mind  was  concerned, 
by  imagining  a  train  of  incidents  in  which  the  spirit 
and  mechanism  of  the  fairy  legend  should  be  combined 
with  the  characters  and  manners  of  familiar  life.  In 
the  little  tale  which  follows,  a  subdued  tinge  of  the 
wild  and  wonderful  is  thrown  over  a  sketch  of  New 
England  personages  and  scenery,  yet,  it  is  hoped, 
without  entirely  obliterating  the  sober  hues  of  nature. 
Rather  than  a  story  of  events  claiming  to  be  real,  it 
may  be  considered  as  an  allegory,  such  as  the  writers 
of  the  last  century  woidd  have  expressed  in  the  shape 
of  an  Eastern  tale,  but  to  which  I  have  endeavored  to 
give  a  more  life-like  warmth  than  could  be  infused  into 
those  fanciful  productions. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  summer  eve,  a  tall,  dark  figure, 
over  which  long  and  remote  travel  had  thrown  an  out 
landish  aspect,  was  entering  a  village,  not  in  "  Fairy 
Londe,"  but  within  our  own  familiar  boundaries.  The 
staff  on  which  this  traveller  leaned  had  been  his  com 
panion  from  the  spot  where  it  grew,  in  the  jungles  of 
Hindostan ;  the  hat  that  overshadowed  his  sombre 
brow  had  shielded  him  from  the  suns  of  Spain  :  but 
his  cheek  had  been  blackened  by  the  red-hot  wind  of 
an  Arabian  desert,  and  had  felt  the  frozen  breath  of 
an  Arctic  region.  Long  sojourning  amid  wild  and 


528  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

dangerous  men,  he  still  wore  beneath  his  vest  the  ata* 
ghan  which  he  had  once  struck  into  the  throat  of  a 
Turkish  robber.  In  every  foreign  clime  he  had  lost 
something  of  his  New  England  characteristics ;  and, 
perhaps,  from  every  people  he  had  unconsciously  bor 
rowed  a  new  peculiarity ;  so  that  when  the  world-wan 
derer  again  trod  the  street  of  his  native  village  it  is 
no  wonder  that  he  passed  unrecognized,  though  excit 
ing  the  gaze  and  curiosity  of  all.  Yet,  as  his  arm 
casually  touched  that  of  a  young  woman  who  was 
wending  her  way  to  an  evening  lecture  she  started, 
and  almost  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Kalph  Cranfield !  "  was  the  name  that  she  half 
articulated. 

"  Can  that  be  my  old  playmate,  Faith  Egerton  ?  " 
thought  the  traveller,  looking  round  at  her  figure,  but 
without  pausing. 

Kalph  Cranfield,  from  his  youth  upward,  had  felt 
himself  marked  out  for  a  high  destiny.  He  had  im 
bibed  the  idea  —  we  say  not  whether  it  were  revealed 
to  him  by  witchcraft,  or  in  a  dream  of  prophecy,  or 
that  his  brooding  fancy  had  palmed  its  own  dictates 
upon  him  as  the  oracles  of  a  Sibyl !  —  but  he  had  im 
bibed  the  idea,  and  held  it  firmest  among  his  articles 
of  faith,  that  three  marvellous  events  of  his  life  were 
to  be  confirmed  to  him  by  three  signs. 

The  first  of  these  three  fatalities,  and  perhaps  the 
one  on  which  his  youthful  imagination  had  dwelt  most 
fondly,  was  the  discovery  of  the  maid  who  alone,  of  all 
the  maids  on  earth,  could  make  him  happy  by  her  love. 
He  was  to  roam  around  the  world  till  he  should  meet 
a  beautiful  woman  wearing  on  her  bosom  a  jewel  in 
the  shape  of  a  heart ;  whether  of  pearl,  or  ruby,  or 
emerald,  or  carbuncle,  or  a  changeful  opal,  or  perhaps 


THE   THREEFOLD  DESTINY.  529 

a  priceless  diamond,  Ralph  Cranfield  little  cared,  so 
long  as  it  were  a  heart  of  one  peculiar  shape.  On 
encountering  this  lovely  stranger,  he  was  bound  to 
address  her  thus :  "  Maiden,  I  have .  brought  you  a 
heavy  heart.  May  I  rest  its  weight,  on  you  ?  "  And 
if  she  were  his  fated  bride  —  if  their  kindred  souls 
were  destined  to  form  a  union  here  below,  which  all 
eternity  should  only  bind  more  closely  —  she  would 
reply,  with  her  finger  on  the  heart-shaped  jewel,  — 
"  This  token,  which  I  have  worn  so  long,  is  the  assur 
ance  that  you  may !  " 

And,  secondly,  Ralph  Cranfield  had  a  firm  belief 
that  there  was  a  mighty  treasure  hidden  somewhere  in 
the  earth,  of  which  the  burial-place  woidd  be  revealed 
to  none  but  him.  When  his  feet  should  press  upon 
the  mysterious  spot,  there  would  be  a  hand  before  him 
pointing  downward  —  whether  carved  of  marble,  or 
hewn  in  gigantic  dimensions  on  the  side  of  a  rocky 
precipice,  or  perchance  a  hand  of  flame  in  empty  air, 
he  could  not  tell ;  but,  at  least,  he  would  discern  a 
hand,  the  forefinger  pointing  downward,  and  beneath 
it  the  Latin  word  EFFODE  —  Dig  !  and  digging  there 
abouts,  the  gold  in  coin  or  ingots,  the  precious  stones, 
or  of  whatever  else  the  treasure  might  consist,  would 
be  certain  to  reward  his  toil. 

The  third  and  last  of  the  miraculous  events  in  the 
life  of  this  high-destined  man  was  to  be  the  attainment 
of  extensive  influence  and  sway  over  his  fellow-crea 
tures.  Whether  he  were  to  be  a  king  and  founder  of 
an  hereditary  throne,  or  the  -victorious  leader  of  a  peo 
ple  contending  for  their  freedom,  or  the  apostle  of  a 
purified  and  regenerated  faith,  was  left  for  futurity  to 
show.  As  messengers  of  the  sign  by  which  Ralph 
Cranfield  might  recognize  the  summons,  three  vener- 

VOL   i.  84 


530  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

able  men  were  to  claim  audience  of  him.  The  chief 
among  them,  a  dignified  and  majestic  person,  arrayed, 
it  may  be  supposed,  in  the  flowing  garments  of  an  an 
cient  sage,  would  be  the  bearer  of  a  wand  or  prophet's 
rod.  With  this  wand,  or  rod,  or  staff,  the  venerable 
sage  would  trace  a  certain  figure  in  the  air,  and  then 
proceed  to  make  known  his  heaven-instructed  message ; 
which,  if  obeyed,  must  lead  to  glorious  results. 

With  this  proud  fate  before  him,  in  the  flush  of  his 
imaginative  youth,  Ralph  Cranfield  had  set  forth  to 
seek  the  maid,  the  treasure,  and  the  venerable  sage 
with  his  gift  of  extended  empire.  And  had  he  found 
them  ?  Alas !  it  was  not  with  the  aspect  of  a  triumph 
ant  man,  who  had  achieved  a  nobler  destiny  than  all 
his  fellows,  but  rather  with  the  gloom  of  one  strug 
gling  against  peculiar  and  continual  adversity,  that  he 
now  passed  homeward  to  his  mother's  cottage.  He 
had  come  back,  but  only  for  a  time,  to  lay  aside  the 
pilgrim's  staff,  trusting  that  his  weary  manhood  would 
regain  somewhat  of  the  elasticity  of  youth,  in  the  spot 
where  his  threefold  fate  had  been  foreshown  him. 
There  had  been  few  changes  in  the  village ;  for  it 
was  not  one  of  those  thriving  places  where  a  year's 
prosperity  makes  more  than  the  havoc  of  a  century's 
decay  ;  but  like  a  gray  hair  in  a  young  man's  head, 
an  antiquated  little  town,  full  of  old  maids,  and  aged 
elms,  and  moss-grown  dwellings.  Few  seemed  to  be 
the  changes  here.  The  drooping  elms,  indeed,  had  a 
more  majestic  spread  ;  the  weather-blackened  houses 
were  adorned  with  a  denser  thatch  of  verdant  moss  ; 
and  doubtless  there  were  a  few  more  gravestones  in 
the  burial  ground,  inscribed  with  names  that  had  once 
been  familiar  in  the  village  street.  Yet,  summing  up 
all  the  mischief  that  ten  years  had  wrought,  it  seemed 


• 


THE   THREEFOLD  DESTINY.  531 

scarcely  more  than  if  Ralph  Cranfield  had  gone  forth 
that  very  morning,  and  dreamed  a  day-dream  till  the 
twilight,  and  then  turned  back  again.  But  his  heart 
grew  cold  because  the  village  did  not  remember  him 
as  he  remembered  the  village. 

"  Here  is  the  change  !  "  sighed  he,  striking  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  "  Who  is  this  man  of  thought  and 
care,  weary  with  world-wandering  and  heavy  with  dis 
appointed  hopes  ?  The  youth  returns  not,  who  went 
forth  so  joyously !  " 

And  now  Ralph  Cranfield  was  at  his  mother's  gate, 
m  front  of  the  small  house  where  the  old  lady,  with 
slender  but  sufficient  means,  had  kept  herself  com 
fortable  during  her  son's  long  absence.  Admitting 
himself  within  the  enclosure,  he  leaned  against  a 
great,  old  tree,  trifling  with  his  own  impatience,  as 
people  often  do  in  those  intervals  when  years  are 
summed  into  a  moment.  He  took  a  minute  survey 
of  the  dwelling  —  its  windows  brightened  with  the 
sky  gleam,  its  doorway,  with  the  half  of  a  millstone 
for  a  step,  and  the  faintly-traced  path  waving  thence  to 
the  gate.  He  made  friends  again  with  his  childhood's 
friend,  the  old  tree  against  which  he  leaned ;  and 
glancing  his  eye  adown  its  trunk,  beheld  something 
that  excited  a  melancholy  smile.  It  was  a  half  oblit 
erated  inscription  —  the  Latin  word  EFFODE — which 
he  remembered  to  have  carved  in  the  bark  of  the  tree, 
with  a  whole  day's  toil,  when  he  had  first  begun  to 
muse  about  his  exalted  destiny.  It  might  be  accounted 
a  rather  singular  coincidence,  that  the  bark  just  above 
the  inscription,  had  put  forth  an  excrescence,  shaped 
not  unlike  a  hand,  with  the  forefinger  pointing  ob 
liquely  at  the  word  of  fate.  Such,  at  least,  was  its 
appearance  in  the  dusky  light. 


532  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"Now  a  credulous  man,"  said  Kalph  Cranfield  care 
lessly  to  himself,  "might  suppose  that  the  treasure 
which  I  have  sought  round  the  world  lies  buried,  after 
all,  at  the  very  door  of  rny  mother's  dwelling.  That 
would  be  a  jest  indeed !  " 

More  he  thought  not  about  the  matter ;  for  now  the 
door  was  opened,  and  an  elderly  woman  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  peering  into  the  dusk  to  discover  who  it 
might  be  that  had  intruded  on  her  premises,  and  was 
standing  in  the  shadow  of  her  tree.  It  was  Kalph 
Cranfield's  mother.  Pass  we  over  their  greeting,  and 
leave  the  one  to  her  joy  and  the  other  to  his  rest,  — 
if  quiet  rest  be  found. 

But  when  morning  broke,  he  arose  with  a  troubled 
brow  ;  for  his  sleep  and  his  wakef  ulness  had  alike  been 
full  of  dreams.  All  the  fervor  was  rekindled  with 
which  he  had  burned  of  yore  to  unravel  the  threefold 
mystery  of  his  fate.  The  crowd  of  his  early  visions 
seemed  to  have  awaited  him  beneath  his  mother's  roof, 
and  thronged  riotously  around  to  welcome  his  return. 
In  the  well-remembered  chamber,  on  the  pillow  where 
his  infancy  had  slumbered,  he  had  passed  a  wilder 
night  than  ever  in  an  Arab  tent,  or  when  he  had  re 
posed  his  head  in  the  ghastly  shades  of  a  haunted  for 
est.  A  shadowy  maid  had  stolen  to  his  bedside,  and 
laid  her  finger  on  the  scintillating  heart ;  a  hand  of 
flame  had  glowed  amid  the  darkness,  pointing  down 
ward  to  a  mystery  within  the  earth ;  a  hoary  sage  had 
waved  his  prophetic  wand,  and  beckoned  the  dreamer 
onward  to  a  chair  of  state.  The  same  phantoms, 
though  fainter  in  the  daylight,  still  flitted  about  the 
cottage,  and  mingled  among  the  crowd  of  familiar  faces 
that  were  drawn  thither  by  the  news  of  Ralph  Cran* 
field's  return,  to  bid  him  welcome  for  his  mother'g 


THE   THREEFOLD  DESTINY.  533 

sake.  There  they  found  him,  a  tall,  dark,  stately  man 
of  foreign  aspect,  courteous  in  demeanor  and  mild  of 
speech,  yet  with  an  abstracted  eye,  which  seemed  often 
to  snatch  a  glance  at  the  invisible. 

Meantime  the  widow  Cranfield  went  bustling  about 
the  house,  full  of  joy  that  she  again  had  somebody  to 
love,  and  be  careful  of,  and  for  whom  she  might  vex 
and  tease  herself  with  the  petty  troubles  of  daily  life. 
It  was  nearly  noon  \vhen  she  looked  forth  from  the 
door,  and  descried  three  personages  of  note  coming 
along  the  street,  through  the  hot  sunshine  and  the 
masses  of  elm-tree  shade.  At  length  they  reached  her 
gate  and  undid  the  latch. 

"  See,  Ralph  !  "  exclaimed  she,  with  maternal  pride, 
"  here  is  Squire  Hawkwood  and  the  two  other  select 
men,  coming  on  purpose  to  see  you !  Now  do  tell  them 
a  good  long  story  about  what  you  have  seen  in  foreign 
parts." 

The  foremost  of  the  three  visitors,  Squire  Hawk- 
wood,  was  a  very  pompous,  but  excellent  old  gentle 
man,  the  head  and  prime  mover  in  all  the  affairs  of 
the  village,  and  universally  acknowledged  to  be  one 
of  the  sagest  men  on  earth.  He  wore,  according  to 
a  fashion  even  then  becoming  antiquated,  a  three- 
cornered  hat,  and  carried  a  silver-headed  cane,  the  use 
of  which  seemed  to  be  rather  for  flourishing  in  the  air 
than  for  assisting  the  progress  of  his  legs.  His  two 
companions  were  elderly  and  respectable  yeomen,  who, 
retaining  an  ante-revolutionary  reverence  for  rank  and 
hereditary  wealth,  kept  a  little  in  the  Squire's  rear. 
As  they  approached  along  the  pathway,  Ralph  Cran 
field  sat  in  an  oaken  elbow  chair,  half  unconsciously 
gazing  at  the  three  visitors,  and  enveloping  their 
-homely  figures  in  the  misty  romance  that  pervaded 
his  mental  world. 


534  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  Here,"  thought  he,  smiling  at  the  conceit,  "here 
come  three  elderly  personages,  and  the  first  of  the 
three  is  a  venerable  sage  with  a  staff.  What  if  this 
embassy  should  bring  me  the  message  of  my  fate !  " 

While  Squire  Hawkwood  and  his  colleagues  entered, 
Ralph  rose  from  his  seat  and  advanced  a  few  steps  to 
receive  them  ,  and  his  stately  figure  and  dark  coun 
tenance,  as  he  bent  courteously  towards  his  guests,  had 
a  natural  dignity,  contrasting  well  with  the  bustling 
importance  of  the  Squire.  The  old  gentleman,  accord 
ing  to  invariable  custom,  gave  an  elaborate  prelim 
inary  flourish  with  his  cane  in  the  air,  then  removed 
his  three-cornered  hat  in  order  to  wipe  his  brow,  and 
finally  proceeded  to  make  known  his  errand. 

"My  colleagues  and  myself,"  began  the  Squire, 
"  are  burdened  with  momentous  duties,  being  jointly 
selectmen  of  this  village.  Our  minds,  for  the  space 
of  three  days  past,  have  been  laboriously  bent  on  the 
selection  of  a  suitable  person  to  fill  a  most  important 
office,  and  take  upon  himself  a  charge  and  rule  which, 
wisely  considered,  may  be  ranked  no  lower  than  those 
of  kings  and  potentates.  And  whereas  you,  our 
native  townsman,  are  of  good  natural  intellect,  and 
well  cultivated  by  foreign  travel,  and  that  certain  va 
garies  and  fantasies  of  your  youth  are  doubtless  long 
ago  corrected ;  taking  all  these  matters,  I  say,  into 
due  consideration,  we  are  of  opinion  that  Providence 
hath  sent  you  hither,  at  this  juncture,  for  our  very 
purpose." 

During  this  harangue,  Cranfield  gazed  fixedly  at 
the  speaker,  as  if  he  beheld  something  mysterious  and 
unearthly  in  his  pompous  little  figure,  and  as  if  the 
Squire  had  worn  the  flowing  robes  of  an  ancient  sage, 
instead  of  a  square-skirted  coat,  flapped  waistcoat, 


• 


THE    THREEFOLD  DESTINY.  535 

velvet  breeches  and  silk  stockings.  Nor  was  his  won 
der  without  sufficient  cause ;  for  the  flourish  of  the 
Squire's  staff,  marvellous  to  relate,  had  described  pre 
cisely  the  signal  in  the  air  which  was  to  ratify  the 
message  of  the  prophetic*  Sage  whom  Cranfield  had 
sought  around  the  world. 

"And  what,"  inquired  Ralph  Cranfield,  with  a 
tremor  in  his  voice,  "  what  may  this  office  be,  which 
is  to  equal  me  with  kings  and  potentates  ?  " 

"  No  less  than  instructor  of  our  village  school,"  an 
swered  Squire  Hawkwood ;  "  the  office  being  now 
vacant  by  the  death  of  the  venerable  Master  AVhita- 
ker,  after  a  fifty  years'  incumbency." 

"  I  will  consider  of  your  proposal,"  replied  Ralph 
Cranfield,  hurriedly,  "  and  will  make  known  my  de 
cision  within  three  days." 

After  a  few  more  words  the  village  dignitary  and 
his  companions  took  their  leave.  But  to  Cranfield's 
fancy  their  images  were  still  present,  and  became 
more  and  more  invested  with  the  dim  awfulness  of 
figures  which  had  first  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream, 
and  afterwards  had  shown  themselves  in  his  waking 
moments,  assuming  homely  aspects  among  familiar 
things.  His  mind  dwelt  upon  the  features  of  the 
Squire,  till  they  grew  confused  with  those  of  the  vis 
ionary  Sage,  and  one  appeared  but  the  shadow  of  the 
other.  The  same  visage,  he  now  thought,  had  looked 
forth  upon  him  from  the  Pyramid  of  Cheops  ;  the 
same  form  had  beckoned  to  him  among  the  colon 
nades  of  the  Alhambra ;  the  same  figure  had  mistily 
revealed  itself  through  the  ascending  steam  of  the 
Great  Geyser.  At  every  effort  of  his  memory  he  rec 
ognized  some  trait  of  the  dreamy  Messenger  of  Des 
tiny  in  this  pompous,  bustling,  self-important,  little 


636  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

great  man  of  the  village.  Amid  such  musings  Kalph 
Cranfield  sat  all  day  in  the  cottage,  scarcely  hearing 
and  vaguely  answering  his  mother's  thousand  ques 
tions  about  his  travels  and  adventures.  At  sunset 
he  roused  himself  to  tak$  a  stroll,  and,  passing  the 
aged  elm-tree,  his  eye  was  again  caught  by  the  sem 
blance  of  a  hand  pointing  downward  at  the  half-ob 
literated  inscription. 

As  Cranfield  walked  down  the  street  of  the  village, 
the  level  sunbeams  threw  his  shadow  far  before  him  ; 
and  he  fancied  that  as  his  shadow  walked  among  dis 
tant  objects,  so  had  there  been  a  presentiment  stalking 
in  advance  of  him  throughout  his  life.  And  when  he 
drew  near  each  object,  over  which  his  tall  shadow  had 
preceded  him,  still  it  proved  to  be  one  of  the  familiar 
recollections  of  his  infancy  and  youth.  Every  crook 
in  the  pathway  was  remembered.  Even  the  more  tran 
sitory  characteristics  of  the  scene  were  the  same  as  in 
by-gone  days.  A  company  of  cows  were  grazing  on 
the  grassy  roadside,  and  refreshed  him  with  their  fra 
grant  breath.  "  It  is  sweeter,"  thought  he,  "  than 
the  perfume  which  was  wafted  to  our  ship  from  the 
Spice  Islands.  The  round  little  figure  of  a  child 
rolled  from  a  doorway,  and  lay  laughing  almost  be 
neath  Cranfield's  feet.  The  dark  and  stately  man 
stooped  down  and,  lifting  the  infant,  restored  him  to 
his  mother's  arms.  "  The  children,"  said  he  to  him 
self  —  and  sighed  and  smiled  —  "  the  children  are  to 
be  my  charge !  "  And  while  a  flow  of  natural  feeling 
gushed  like  a  well-spring  in  his  heart,  he  came  to  a 
dwelling  which  he  could  nowise  forbear  to  enter.  A 
sweet  voice,  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  deep  and 
tender  soul,  was  warbling  a  plaintive  little  air  within. 

He  bent  his  head  and  passed  through  the  lowly 


THE    THREEFOLD  DESTINY.  537 

door.  As  his  foot  sounded  upon  the  threshold,  a 
yoiing  woman  advanced  from  the  dusky  interior  of 
the  house,  at  first  hastily,  and  then  with  a  more  uncer 
tain  step,  till  they  met  face  to  face.  There  was  a 
singular  contrast  in  their  two  figures  :  he  dark  and 
picturesque  —  one  who  had  battled  with  the  world, 
whom  all  suns  had  shone  upon,  and  whom  all  winds 
had  blown  on  a  varied  course ;  she  neat,  comely,  and 
quiet  —  quiet  even  in  her  agitation,  as  if  all  her 
emotions  had  been  subdued  to  the  peaceful  tenor  of 
her  life.  Yet  their  faces,  all  unlike  as  they  were,  had 
an  expression  that  seemed  not  so  alien,  a  glow  of 
kindred  feeling  flashing  upward  anew  from  half-extin 
guished  embers. 

"  You  are  welcome  home  !  "  said  Faith  Egerton. 

But  Cranfield  did  not  immediately  answer  ;  for  his 
eye  had  been  caught  by  an  ornament  in  the  shape  of 
a  Heart  which  Faith  wore  as  a  brooch  upon  her 
bosom.  The  material  was  the  ordinary  white  quartz  ; 
and  he  recollected  having  himself  shaped  it  out  of 
one  of  those  Indian  arrowheads  which  are  so  often 
found  in  the  ancient  haunts  of  the  red  men.  It  was 
precisely  on  the  pattern  of  that  worn  by  the  visionary 
Maid.  When  Cranfield  departed  on  his  shadowy 
search  he  had  bestowed  this  brooch,  in  a  gold  setting, 
as  a  parting  gift  to  Faith  Egerton. 

"  So,  Faith,  you  have  kept  the  Heart !  "  said  he  at 
length. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  blushing  deeply ;  then  more  gayly, 
"  and  what  else  have  you  brought  me  from  beyond  the 
sea?" 

"  Faith !  "  replied  Ralph  Cranfield,  uttering  the 
fated  words  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  "I  have 
brought  you  nothing  but  a  heavy  heart !  May  I  rest 
its  weight  on  you?  " 


538  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  This  token  which  I  have  worn  so  long,"  said 
Faith,  laying  her  tremulous  finger  on  the  Heart,  "is 
the  assurance  that  you  may ! " 

"  Faith  !  Faith !  "  cried  Cranfield,  clasping  her  in 
his  arms,  "  you  have  interpreted  my  wild  and  weary 
dream ! " 

Yes,  the  wild  dream  was  awake  at  last.  To  find 
the  mysterious  treasure,  he  was  to  till  the  earth  around 
his  mother's  dwelling,  and  reap  its  products  !  Instead 
of  warlike  command,  or  regal  or  religious  sway,  he 
was  to  rule  over  the  village  children !  And  now  the 
visionary  Maid  had  faded  from  his  fancy,  and  in  her 
place  he  saw  the  playmate  of  his  childhood !  Would 
all  who  cherish  such  wild  wishes  but  look  around 
them,  they  would  oftenest  find  their  sphere  of  duty, 
of  prosperity,  and  happiness,  within  those  precincts 
and  in  that  station  where  Providence  itself  has  cast 
their  lot.  Happy  they  who  read  the  riddle  without  a 
weary  world  search,  or  a  lifetime  spent  in  vain ! 


THE  END. 


• 


WW3**W 

fcigpCi  ^«4. 

•*,•  wv  _&.  w^«J 


^c^-  •  * . 

R%?««^ 

^ 


3*w-:..  &** 


^ 


*\" 

5: 


1 


